


King Fili takes a Holiday

by LoxleyAndBagell



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: ...to avoid assassination, Beorn is a shit, Holiday Road Trip, Multi, almost 40 years post-BOFA, and isn't it marvelous how Legolas' mother is still alive too???, assumed major character death, but naw dude christmas spirit got to me and all, isn't it great that so many people survived the BOFA?, mentions of claustrophobic situations, mentions of goldsickness, more tags to be added over the course of this story, trigger warning for brief moments of anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 54,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoxleyAndBagell/pseuds/LoxleyAndBagell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A resurrection of a holiday fic from last year that I took down after not completing it in time for the holidays.<br/>Between Smaug-worshipping cultists, faulty familial communication, and a badly taxidermied barracuda, King Fili's Yuletide is looking pretty ugly...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Unless you’re the King or the Crown Prince or the Guard, piss off!” Ori bellowed at the door. The knocking had taken him from a rather lovely dream with frogs and cheese (not quite frogs made of cheese; some part of him distinctly recalled lactose intolerance playing a sizable role in this dream). Reaching for the spectacles Fili had given him last Durin’s day, he peered at the water clock, and…

…Oh, that did not help his mood in the least. 

In spite of his order, the knocking persisted. Growling, the scribe flung back the covers, wrapped himself in the soft, dove-grey dressing gown Bilbo had sent him, hissed at the cold floor beneath his feet in combination with his achy leg, and set about searching for his slippers.

“You’ve waited before, you can wait a little longer!” he barked at the door when the knocking turned into pounding. 

Finally, he found them under his bed. Suitably warmed, he took his cane and hobbled his way over to the door, and finally swung it open, fully intending to give whatever cheeky bastard on the other side a piece of his mind. 

He caught the King in mid-knock.

“Oh,” he gasped. “Fili.”

The young “Golden Lion of Erebor” smirked, sheepishly adjusting his eye-patch. “You said ‘unless the King’…”

“…or the Crown Prince, or the Guard!” added the Captain of the Guard behind him, grinning unabashedly.

“For the love of peace, Kili,” Ori groaned. “Doesn’t your training warn you against waking up good dwarrow in their beds at Fuck-All-O’ clock? And, your Majesty, aren’t you meant to be a good influence around these parts?”

“Hey, waking you up was his idea,” Kili insisted. Fili only shrugged mildly, not minding Ori’s withering glare. 

“I shan’t deny it, good scribe,” said the King, “but this is rather important, so if you could find it within your dear heart to let us in, I should be much obliged.”

Ori only huffed a put-out sigh, holding the door open. “Well, if it makes you two fuck off faster.” (He never was at his best when freshly awoken.)

Kili eagerly barreled in first, making a bee-line for the fire-place. Fili followed a little more sedately, pausing to fix his one-eyed gaze warmly on Ori. “Nice specs,” he noted. 

Ori couldn’t find it in himself to return the smile, but he went along with the old dialogue: “Thank you, they were a gift from the King.”

“He must be a generous, handsome devil.”

“I used to think so; the glasses help.”

Fili grinned, and stepped into the room so Ori could shut the door. 

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Ori asked the pair. “You had supper at Lasta’s, didn’t you? I know whenever I eat there, I always am too full to stay awake.” Ori’s student was always feeding people, and was a rather wonderful cook; the hobbits would love him. It was why Ori had suggested him to attend Fili’s winter expedition to the Shire as Scribe. It was a journey Fili and Kili had been planning for a long time, now, but Ori couldn’t find it in him to go. His old battle wound always troubled him when the weather went cold, and he refused to be an inconvenience to his friend and King. Still, Fili had insisted a Scribe accompany them, so Ori had agreed to send one of his students from the College of Scribes. When Lasta had eagerly piped up, well, Ori had gotten very nostalgic. For this first audience with the King, Fili had asked for something casual, so as not to intimidate the young fellow, and Lasta had insisted on, of course, making supper for him and his other traveling companions.

After a moment, Kili called, “I’m starting a fire, Ori,” from the hearth. “I can feel my beard freezing off in this cold, and Mahal knows I’ve spent too long growing this one out.”

“No need,” yawned the scribe. “I’m kicking the pair of you out before too long.”

“Well, that could be a problem, seeing how this business may take a little while to discuss,” called Fili from the corner of the room, where he was pulling up a third chair to sit by the hearth. “I did say it was rather important, didn’t I?”

Ori only groaned, slumping into his armchair, stretching out his slippered feet as close to the hearth as he could manage. 

“Hey, don’t be that way,” Kili protested from the floor. “It’s really, astonishingly, astoundingly important.”

“I’ve told the pair of you,” Ori groaned, hiding his face under his hands, rubbing the irritation from his temples, “Bilbo’s sure to be crazy about your gift, Thorin would be delighted with the pair of you…” 

“…And we don’t doubt your council,” Fili assured him, coming up behind him to softly squeeze his shoulder. “This is something completely different. And I’m afraid it’s not much of a question, or an offer.”

Ori peeked between his fingers. Both King and Crown Prince were stony-faced at this admission. 

Without waiting for further prompting, Kili set about elaborating, struggling to light a match. “There was an attempt on my brother's life tonight.”

Ori’s hands fell away.

“During supper tonight, Fili’s food was seasoned with poison,” said Kili flatly.

“Of course, there will be a further investigation into the matter, we’ll keep it very quiet,” Fili assured Ori.

“There’s no need to investigate,” barked Kili. “You know damn well it was Lasta!”

“Lasta?” Ori asked incredulously. “My student? You can’t be serious. I recommended him to you…” 

A cold chill ran down his spine. “Oh Mahal, you’ve come to arrest me.”

“Ori, that is most certainly not the case!” Kili assured him. “We would have never guessed, it wasn’t until we started eating, he as good as gave himself away, rambling on some Fiery Hammer doctrine…”

Ori slouched. “I’d have never guessed… you must believe me, I had no clue…”

“Neither did we,” said Fili quietly. “I don’t think anybody knew.”

Ori leant forward. “It can’t be safe for the pair of you to stay in the mountain, if there’s a resurgance…”

Fili leant close as well. “Ori, it wasn’t even cleverly done. I only ingested a small amount—“

“Mahal in his Halls!” Ori nearly flew from his seat. 

“—and vomited it out almost immediately after,” Fili finished. “He tried to use mistletoe.”

“He had a sprig in his kitchen,” said Kili, holding it up, handing it to Ori when he reached for it.

The scribe turned it over in his hands, frowning. This sprig was bare of leaves, but not one berry had been plucked from it. 

“Was this the only sprig, Kili?”

He nodded. “The search just concluded before we came here. It was the only poison in the place; I’d wager he just bought it today. We’ll question the apothecaries and herbalists tomorrow morning.”

Ori snorted on a laugh. “He just tried the leafs on you.”

“Yes,” Fili nodded.

Ori wasn’t sure whether to laugh or collapse. He settled for a strange mix of the two, slipping out of his chair as he smothered cackles. “If he really wanted to do some damage, he’d have used the berries; those are the worst to use, on a dwarf, anyway. Or, if he knew what he was doing, that’s what he’d have done.”

Fili and Kili only stared at Ori as he laughed. “So… you don’t think he meant any harm?” Fili asked.

Ori, still giggling, shook his head. “Oh, I’ll tell you what I think. D’you know why I recommended young Lasta?”

“You thought he’d be loyal,” answered Kili.

“Well, yes, that’s a given,” the scribe replied. “It was my mistake, really it was. He was full of four sorts of bravado, was very book-clever, wanted to travel beyond his home…”

“The sort to take a slingshot against a troll,” Fili concluded for his friend, smiling sadly and staring pointedly at Ori.

“Exactly,” Ori chuckled. “Just that sort. I just thought he’d be the sort to take up the slingshot for you, not against you. Oh, Fili, I am sorry,” he sighed. 

“Yes, you were very cute all those years ago, but did he mean any harm?” asked Kili.

Ori playfully narrowed his eyes at the Crown Prince. “I was older than you, badger. And I think that he very much meant harm to your brother. But, Kili, how dangerous was I all those years ago? I got in with a group of thirteen radicals myself, only we were out to kill a dragon. 

"If there’re any remaining members in the mountain, they won’t be numerous. Probably a load cleverer than the original bunch, just as devoted, too. But if their top agent is a young student, who doesn’t even know his botany, how great can their prospects be?”

Kili pursed his lips thoughtfully, turning to struggle with his matches and light the fire. Ori relaxed when the first flame touched the log in the hearth, nearly melting out of his chair. The trio was quiet for a few minutes, watching the fire grow. Ori stood to find his pipe, lighting it with a match Kili gave him. “I think that what you’ve got on your hands is an idealist who was given a good opportunity,” said Ori softly. “But I’ll help with the investigation, whatever you need.”

He turned to the King. “Fili, you should absolutely continue with your advanced travel plans. Leaving the mountain may be the safest thing at the moment. I think this is not a resurgance, but all the same…”

“…which ties neatly into the reason we’re here,” Fili cut him off, packing leaf into his own pipe. Ori gave him the lit match he had used on his own, and soon two ghostly wisps of smoke danced over their heads. 

“I still intend to go, Kili and I discussed that on the way here,” said the King. “Kili will lead the investigation, until it is time to depart. Then, Hrollr will take over. We shall have to speak with you, of course, make it official, but it will be made clear enough that you’re no suspect in this business. But once that is done, it may not be safe for you to remain here, just as it will be dangerous for the rest of the Company.”

Ori looked at them incredulously. "No. You're not serious."

Fili and Kili grinned. 

The Scribe collapsed dramatically. “Have mercy. I’m not as spry as I once was, and still no warrior…”

“You’ll do fine,” Fili insisted, heaving his friend up to his feet as Kili pulled open the trapdoor that lead to the Saferoom. “Besides, what good’s an adventure without a Scribe?” he added, a twinkle in his eye.

“I thought this was supposed to be a hush-hush affair,” groused Ori. “And with all the Company gone, who’s going to hold the throne while you’re gone? Balin won’t be staying behind anymore, if you get your way.”

“We’ll be discussing that in the Saferoom,” said Kili, heaving the door open. “I sent word to all the others to meet us there.”

“I hate the Saferoom,” Ori whined, grasping for straws. 

“Me too, sweet lad, but it did its job last time, didn’t it?” Fili chuckled, patting his back and guiding him along. “We won’t mention it in the Chronicle of King Fili’s Grand Adventure to the Shire.”

“You have no ear for titles, Majesty.”

“Shush, Scribe.”

 

Ori hated the Saferoom with all his heart, all his soul, and all his being. He hated it with all he was, and all he would be. He hoped that, when the time came to Rebuild the World, he would take the first hammer to it and recreate it into a water closet. He kept these dark thoughts to himself as Fili led him down the stone steps, to the hidden chamber deep in the wall of the mountain.

The Saferoom had been discovered during the uncomfortable months when the Fiery Hammer was still new. It had been a spectacular find during those days under siege in the mountain, found by Nori on one of his many Snoops. He had found the first crumbling trapdoor in old King’s old rooms, when the floor gave way under his feet to the hidden stone stairwell. The stairs did not lead to a route out of the mountain, alas, but did come to a dark, dank chamber that turned out to be within the mountain’s wall, next to the kitchens to be exact (it had given Dwalin a good scare; he would never say just what he was doing in the kitchens at the time, but what mattered was that he could confirm the location of this chamber. So hush). 

They had made more trapdoors and secret passages, furnished the chamber sparsely, with a chest for a few bedrolls and not much else, as well as shelves with nonperishable foodstuffs. It had been enlarged, to accommodate more than a handful of royal dwarrow, perfect for holding Bombur’s growing family and Gloin’s own rambunctious son, Gimli. Not only that, but it was a pocket in the rock that was surrounded by pipes from the heating system, providing not only heat, but enough clanking and rattling to mask the bulk of their noise (well, the grown-up’s noise; Bombur’s children and Gimli were another story entirely). 

The children…

Ori had to stop, a sudden wave of fear roiling in his stomach. “Fili,” he hissed, “the badgers…”

“I don’t know,” Fili whispered in return. “Kili was the one who sent Guards to warn them. Kili?”

The Crown Prince nodded grimly. “Bombur and Gloin’s families were the first to be alerted,” he assured them. “They should have been here ages ago. Oin should have them all checked over by now.”

There was the glow of a lamp growing brighter and brighter as Ori descended, as well as the smell of baking gingerbread from the kitchens. The closer he got, the better he could hear Gimli’s chatter and Gloin’s shushing, as well as the occasional giggle from Bombur’s elder children. Other than that, he could hear nobody else. 

He sagged against the wall in relief, taking slow, steadying breaths. Thank goodness. There wouldn’t be any laughter if anyone was sick, or in harm’s way. 

As he had collapsed, Fili had made to grab his hand, to steady him. As Ori got his breathing under control, the King squeezed that hand reassuringly, pointedly ignoring his brother’s cheeky smile. Ori soon calmed, squeezing his hand gratefully. Fili tugged him along, gently urging. The scribe complied, and the trio resumed their walk.

Kili made it to the room before Fili and Ori, hissing, “I’ve brought the great dolt, he’s all yours, Oin.”

That stopped Fili mid-step. “I’ll go find the others, shall I?” he whispered to Ori.

The scribe grinned wickedly. “Oh no, Majesty; I’m claiming my vengeance tonight. This is what you get for dragging good persons out of their bed at absurd hours.” 

With Ori taking a gentle hold of Fili’s ear, they continued down the remainder of the stairs to the chamber, Fili putting on a sulk dramatic enough to impress any Elf poet. There, among the multiple stairways leading to the room, Ori could count all the children, illuminated in the lamplight. He could see young Gimli, whose laugh his parents, Gimli and Mizim, was smothering; Next to them there was Oin with his bag; Bombur and his wife, Seydhir who were slumped together in sleep, and their Brood of four (the twins, Breyta and Breyti, were fast asleep on their parents) were settled next to Bofur and Bifur. The cousins were distracting the older members of The Brood, Seybur and Bodhir, with a wind-up dragon that scuttled across the stone floor. 

As soon as they descended, Oin took Kili’s hand and pulled himself upwards, holding his bag and hobbling in Fili’s direction like a dreadful, ancient Balrog. Ori held the King’s ear as he squirmed in mock discomfort, much to the delight of Seybur and Bodhir. 

Oin did not hold his ear trumpet aloft to hear Fili’s protestations, nor did he bother to pay any mind to his signaling. 

“What does that mean?” Bodhir whisper-hissed to Bofur, when the adults giggled at Fili’s signs.

“That, Girlie, means that he’s just hurled supper and lunch. As if that’s going to help,” drawled the toymaker-turned-Honor Guard, lingering on ‘hurled’ and elaborately making the sign.

“Sorry, Cousin Fili; Adad and Amad had me do the same, but Uncle Oin got me, too,” Gimli piped up. “He made me eat charcoal, it was the worst.”

Without a word, Oin grimly thrust his bag to Ori, who held it obligingly. Fili glared at him, muttering “traitor” under his breath. 

Fili turned pleadingly to his brother, who grinned and shook his head as he turned to the passage again. “I’m going to find Dwalin and Nori,” he said, signing as he spoke, “and send him to get Amad. Then I’ll find Balin. Ori, your brothers should be here any minute. Fili, be good, won’t you?”

“Shut up,” the King growled. 

Oin held up a hand, signaling Kili to stop. He reached a gnarled hand into his bag and pulled out three bottles and tossed them to the Crown Prince, who caught them expertly. 

“What’re those?” whispered Seybur to Bofur. Bodhir huffed out a sigh and elaborately signed ‘hurled.’

Oin signed to Kili, inquiring if he had “hurled,” himself. Kili nodded, and in return was tossed a vial of charcoal. He grimaced, nodded his thanks, and made to leave, but Oin gave him such a withering glare that Kili halted, sighed, and downed the charcoal in one go. Then Oin waved him off, and Kili gladly hightailed it. 

Fili was obediently still as Oin began his examination, pressing a horn to his chest to hear his lungs and heart, almost choking him with a tongue depressor, holding a lamp to his eyes (provided by Ori) which nearly blinded him, then swallowing the charcoal Oin gave him.

Then Oin turned to Ori.

Fili couldn’t help but feel avenged when the black bag was given to him, and Ori sheepishly signed to Oin that he had not been made to vomit before coming to the Saferoom. Gloin stood and thrust a bucket at him, patting his head teasingly. There was no plumbing in the Saferoom, having been intended for short-term hide-outs. The Line of Durin did not hide in the shadows for long; only long enough to decide how to strike back harder.

Ori retreated to the stairwell to ingest the medicine and empty his stomach. He returned and, once Oin was satisfied with his check-up, swallowed charcoal, too. 

“Well, that looks appetizing; save some for me, won’t you?”

Ori whirled on his brother. “Dori!” he laughed in relief, embracing him. “Which sorry sod woke you up? The Wonder Duo got me.” 

“You got the Royal Treatment?” Dori laughed. “Lucky lad, I only got the dratted guard, and not even Dwalin. Oin, you can get that foul stuff far away from me, I made sure I took care of myself.”

Again, the children practiced the “hurled” sign, and collapsed on themselves as they stifled hoots of laughter.

Dori narrowed his dirtiest glare at Bofur and Bifur; signing his disapproval of them teaching the badgers new forms of mischief. Bifur only pointed at Bofur defensively, while Bofur fluttered his eyelashes.

There was a loud puttering coming down the stairs, growing nearer and nearer, that was soon revealed to be the King’s Mother, Her Royal Highness Princess Dis. Wrapped in her own dressing gown, slippers abandoned, and her silver-streaked hair coming out of its braid, she ran to her son and pulled him down to a fierce embrace. She was followed by Dwalin, who pulled his half-awake husband along behind him. 

“I thought there’d be more of a spring to your step,” Dori teased Nori. “There’s intrigue afoot; isn’t that your game, Spymaster?”

“Mffgh,” replied Nori (he was worse than Ori when freshly-awoken).

“Yes, there’s nothing quite as refreshing as young Kili breaking into your room and demanding that you throw up and crawl into the rat-hole,” Dwalin yawned. 

“Don’t you pout, now,” said Ori, taking the charcoal bottle from Oin. “Take some of this, it’ll sweeten your breath.”

Dwalin grunted what may have been a “yippee,” pinched his nose and took his medicine. Nori took his with a grimace and skulked off next to Bombur and Seydhir to sleep. 

Dis finally let go of her son to take his face in her hands. “What does Oin say? Are you feeling ill? Who did it? Where is the rat now? Where is your brother?”

“Oin’s poured enough charcoal down my throat to turn my teeth black, he’ll do the same for you,” Fili answered obediently. “I’m sure he’ll take me aside to make doubly sure before too long, once everybody else’s innards have been darkened. I feel just as well as a dwarf can be after all the vomiting and other business. We have a suspect, he’s locked up now, thank Kili for that when he comes back from getting Balin.”

Dis nodded slowly, absorbing Fili’s words, green eyes closed. When they opened again, they were cold and sensible. “Darling, don’t hide things from your mother. What about this suspect?”

The room was silent; even Gimli held his tongue. Fili cleared his throat, looking downwards. Ori cleared his own throat, addressing her. “Your Highness, I fear it was one of my students. I recommended him to your son as Scribe for his journey.” 

The Princess did not look at him, but was as still as carved stone. He paused to gulp. “He was a Fiery Hammer. I was… we were all deceived.”

She turned then, just the slightest tilt of her head to fix him still with one, gleaming emerald eye. “Were you?” she asked flatly, coldly, the words falling from her lips like chips of ice.

Not flinching away, steeling himself, he answered. “More than anyone, I believe.”

It felt like days that Ori stood there for the Princess’ scrutiny, until she finally turned away to embrace Fili again. Oin lightly touched her arm, and Dis allowed herself to step away to take the vial of charcoal from him. 

“You’re a gentle heart, Ori,” she said, her back to the Scribe. “Even now.” There was an edge to her voice that made it clear it was not a compliment. 

The silence was broken when two sets of footsteps descended from the East Wing stairs. Kili’s dark head peeked out first, whispering, “Amad must be here, if it’s this quiet.”

Dis sighed resignedly, and went to embrace her youngest son after patting Fili’s cheek. Balin first greeted his brother, stifled a laugh at his sleeping brother-in-law, then went to Ori.

“How much did Kili tell you?” Ori asked softly as his former Tutor as they knocked foreheads in greeting.

“No more than all,” Balin replied, just as soft. “Lad, I am sorry. I wouldn’t have guessed, after meeting him.”

Ori closed his eyes. “Her Highness is going to have me killed.”

Balin chuckled. “Give us a few weeks on the road, she’ll forgive you for anything.”

Ori’s eyes blinked wide open. “On the road?”

Balin straightened himself up. “Of course. If worse comes to worse, there’s no chance we can stay here. We’ll have to make that Shire trip sooner than we anticipated, and with greater secrecy.”

“’Trip’?” Gimli piped up. “Will we go on a quest?”

Balin chuckled. “Certainly, certainly there's a distinct possibility! I hope we won’t, but we may.”

He turned to Dis. “Kili and I snooped about a little before coming here, and so far the word in the kitchen is that Lasta’s insisting he’s an independent agent, but he’s insisting that the people will rise and break him free. We shall just have to see about that.”

Dis said not a word, but nodded carefully.

Kili kissed her cheek. “I’m going back out, Amad. I’ve got an investigation to lead and gossip to hear.”

“You come back, you hear me?” she said. 

“Yes, Amad. I’ll make my orders, and come right back. Promise.” 

He started up the stairs, but stopped halfway. “Before I forget!” he exclaimed, backtracking down. “I said I went to the kitchens, didn’t I? What kind of errand would that be if I didn’t bring back proof?” he asked, reaching into his breast pocket and bringing out several gingerbread Orcs and handing them to Bodhir and Seybur, after extracting their promise to share. Grinning, he ruffled their hair and hopped up the stairs again.

And with that, they settled themselves in for a wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Prince Legolas wrinkled his nose at the cauldron his father leant over. “Sir, I honor and respect you as a son should a father and a subject should a king, but perhaps you should consider that the Days of Wine and Roses have passed us by?”

King Thranduil was nonplussed. “Son of mine, when you are as old as I, you will learn that your heart will tell you no lies and is to be trusted in all things. Until then, know that my heart has never led me astray when it comes to wine.”

“But father—“

“No buts!” The King of the Greenwood whirled on his son, shaking a gloved finger at him. “There’s only so much warmed cider an Elf may endure, and I shan’t wait until summertime for my wine.”

“But… wine? Warmed?”

“Precisely.” The King nodded, sagely. “If fermented apples are suitable when warmed, why not grapes? Now, stand aside and observe what marvels I may perform.”

Legolas forced himself to stand still and observe as his father took a ladle and poured himself a goblet from the cauldron, then took a long, indulgent sip. He smacked his lips appreciatively, then turned to his son.

“See? Quite palatable, didn’t I sa—AAUGH!”

Legolas chewed on the inside of his lip as his father threw the goblet to the other side of the room, spitting and hacking all the way to the sink. 

“Father, I hate to say it, but—“

“Another word, Legs-my-lad, and I’m cutting you off. It just needs something… lemon, perhaps. Legolas, send for some lemons! And oranges!”

Legolas closed his eyes patiently; it was going to be a long, cold night.

 

“Captain approaches!”

Hrollr set down her paper and pen and stood with the rest of the guards at attention as the Crown Prince ran down the stairs to the dungeon. 

“At ease,” he said as he slowed to a jog before reaching the assembled company. “Lieutenant Hrollr, report.”

The dark-skinned dwarrowdam clicked her heels, presenting him with the Record of Interrogation. “Sir, the prisoner denies the involvement of any other parties in this business, but claims—“

“Lieutenant, what am I looking at, here?” Captain Kili interrupted.

She blinked, mildly taken aback. “My writing, sir. It’s the shorthand they teach at the Academy.”

He did not look up from the document, continuing his perusal. “Where’s Skrifa?”

Hrollr stood a little straighter. “Sir, I thought, given the nature of the emergency, it would be wise not to involve the College of Scribes.”

The Captain spent about another minute looking the document over, then handed it back. “Well done, Lieutenant. I only object to the state of your handwriting.”

That brought a chuckle from the guards, and Hrollr let herself crack a small smile. The Captain then asked, “what does the prisoner claim?”

She cleared her throat and straightened her face. “He claims, Captain, that there will be people coming to break him out.” 

The Captain pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I thought as much,” he muttered. 

His eyes went over Hrollr’s head, peering for the prisoner in his cell. The dwarrowdam stepped aside, giving him room to pass and go closer to the bars. Lasta was barely visible now, hunched in on himself in the shadowy corner. 

“Step into the light,” the Captain ordered, shoulders stiff and hands behind his back.

“You’ve seen enough of me, surely you can’t have forgotten my face,” came a surprisingly clear voice from the corner. 

The Captain shook his head. “This is not a request, and if you know what’s good for you, you will. Step. Into. The light.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the shape stretched upwards and stepped out of the shadows into the torchlight. He was slighter than most dwarrow, and looked smaller than he truly was in the looming darkness of the dungeon, clad only in trousers and weskit, the guards having relieved him of his boots, surcoat, and other layers. His black braids were coming undone and his once-fine moustache was going limp, but his grey eyes were still sharp and bright, gleaming behind the shadows cast on his face. 

“Here I am, your Highness,” he said, extending his arms. “What is your will?”

The Captain’s voice was even, but his hands clenched in and out of fists erratically behind him. “Well, I have a few suggestions, but ultimately my brother is final judge in these things.”

Lasta dropped his arms, face still implacable. “I’ve told them all I’ll say to them.”

“That so?” 

After a pause, Lasta nodded. “That so.”

The hands behind the Captain’s back slowly settled into fists. “Everyone except Hrollr is to leave the room,” he ordered, not looking away from the prisoner.

The guards hastened to obey, pausing only to take in Hrollr’s signal for them to stay nearby behind the door. The Sergeant nodded, then led the rest out the door, firmly slamming the door behind them.

When they were alone, it was like a weight lifted from Lasta’s shoulders. “Your Highness, I—“

The Captain reached out, grabbed the front of his weskit and dragged him to the bars, standing almost nose-to-nose.

“As you value your honour and your life,” hissed the Captain, holding his knife aloft and close to Lasta’s face, “you are going to tell me the names of your friends in the mountain, where they are, where they are going to be, and when to expect them there, or so help me Mahal—“

“Your Highness, please, I don’t know,” Lasta hissed, eyes wide and pleading.

With a flick of the Captain’s wrist, half the moustache was gone. “There’s for lying to my brother,” the Captain growled. “Answer me, now.”

Hrollr fought back a gasp. “Sir, that is not proper procedure,” she protested. 

Her words fell on deaf ears. The Captain flicked off the other half of the moustache. “There’s for your shoddy attempts at murder. Answers.”

“I am giving them to you,” the prisoner pleaded, gasping when the blade pressed against his throat.

“This is for the Line of Durin, and their friends you and your company have abused in the past,” said the Captain with a chilling calm. “Tell. Me. In ten… nine… eight…”

“I can’t think with a knife at my throat!”

“And I don’t like to give this much time to murderers. Adapt. Seven… six…fi—hurk!”

Hrollr pulled the Captain backwards, wrestling the knife from his hand. “Sir,” she said as darkly as she could, “with all due respect, I don’t think you’re a fit interrogator for this case.” 

Sticking the knife into the table next to her, she inhaled slowly and continued. “If I may be frank, sir, I think your family needs you, now. If you please, on your way out, send Luta in, maybe we’ll get more answers if it’s just him and me in the room—“

“He’ll only hear what you’ve already heard from me,” said Lasta quietly from the cell. “But before his Highness leaves, please, just let me say—“

“Save your threats,” said the Captain, his rage suddenly tempered with weariness as he made his way to the door. “Hrollr, I’ll come to hear your report in the morning.”

“No, your Highness, wait!” the prisoner cried sharply, halting the Captain in his tracks. “What I have to say is for your ears, if you will please, please listen! Don’t send the others in, not just yet, anyway. Please.”

The Captain did not turn, but nodded permissively. “Go on. I’m listening.”

Hrollr observed the dwarf in the cell, greatly amazed; it was as if ever since the others had gone he had dropped the bravado he had shown them earlier like a too-big coat. Now, with his moustache gone, it was easy to tell just how young he was, to catch the quivering of his lip and how he caught it between his teeth to steel himself, just as he did now before speaking.

“Thank you, your Highness. I must speak quietly, so if you would come closer—“

“I have a reputation for foolishness, but rumors have a tendency to be exaggerated.” The Captain did not turn, but there was a tilt to his head and a hush to his tone that spoke of interest.

Gulping, the prisoner spoke in a hush. “The ones that are coming… your Highness, you spoke of rumors, you are familiar with them; in your experience, how quickly do you suppose they travel?”

The Captain huffed, amused. “Depends. Why, did you make friends with an elf, yourself?"

Hrollor couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking, but Lasta barreled on. “More sensational than that. How sensational, do you suppose, is an attempted assassination on the King?”

The silence rang for what felt like hours before the Captain spoke again. “Do you mean to tell me that your little show was a rat trap?”

Lasta nodded frantically. “Yes, don’t you see? The ones who still remain, as soon as they think there’s a resurgence, still those who believe, they’ll come out of hiding. I’ve gotten close enough to see the King, they won’t waste any time coming to rescue me. I’ll… I’ll be to them as your Uncle was to Erebor!”

The Captain scoffed. “Oh, a nice little present to us, then? Years and years after your friends vanish, you’re just going to resurrect the remaining crawlers as a little favour?”

“Your Highness, they are far from my friends, they killed… someone important to me.”

There was no response from the Captain. Inhaling shakily, the prisoner continued. “It was nobody of supremely high rank, nobody worth remembering, but. Still. Important to me. I was still a student at the time, and no one foresaw any of the arsons coming, nobody could’ve done anything to prepare for it, I couldn’t have done a thing, but of course I can’t believe it when I tell myself that. Of course I want vengeance. I want the most extravagant, bloody revenge you can think of, with enough guts and grandeur to compensate for the unbelievable hurt. D’you understand?”

He leant close against the bars then, voice going to an urgent hiss. “Imagine if I had been successful, tonight. Imagine the pain in your heart if I stood behind these bars a true murderer. You’re imagining the lavish pains you’d inflict upon me before finally putting me out of my misery at last right now, they’d be so much more horrible if I’d actually done it. That’s what I’m after, that satisfaction.”

The Captain exhaled heavily. “Ori told us of how you slaved to become a Scribe. And all for vengeance?”

Lasta nodded, smiling ruefully. “Oh, I couldn’t give mine a funeral, but I would’ve waited ‘til the Second Song if it meant having the perfect opportunity.”

“Were you waiting for this specific moment?”

“No, how could I have guessed? I thought, maybe in another five years I’d be a census-taker, not a student any longer, and I could piece together some suspects and all that, but to go to the King? Of course, I had to leap for it, your Highness. Leap I did, and true did I land. It all went as I told you; maybe your Guards would never breathe a word, but wee portraits have big ears; there’s always some scullion creeping about, or some page lost in the hallways, and will have to tell the tale. You’re right, rumors grow like weeds, and this one will be enormous. 

“Do you know, not a month after your Uncle left Ered Luin, all us wee badgers were playing at being The Company of Thorin Oakenshield?” Lasta smiled wistfully. “As I recall, he was tall enough to use an entire oak tree for his shield, and a lightening bolt for a sword. It was astonishing, seeing Ori’s portrait of him; I thought he was a smith with a funny nose Ori wanted to draw one day.”

The Captain’s shoulders shook a bit with a suppressed laugh. Seeing that, Hrollr felt her own shoulders relax, and saw the prisoner’s do the same. “Your Highness, you know what I am: another rat-faced, skinny-armed student who doesn’t fill his boots all the way. But in another twenty-four hours, I could very easily be as big and frightening as Smaug himself.”

“Mahal in his halls,” the Captain snorted. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”

The prisoner sombered a little, pursing his lips thoughtfully before speaking. “Well… if I wanted to do any real damage, I’d have used the berries, not the leafs.”

With that, the Captain gave up and let out a loud guffaw of laughter, turning around at last. “Fine,” he said. “Twenty-four hours, you say? Wonderful. I’ll have low security on you for the next forty-eight. If the rats don’t come crawling into my lap, as you say they will, during that time, I’ll have you moved to a high-security cell and make arrangements for your speedy trial. I can’t promise you’ll ever be heard of again.”

Lasta’s smile was forced, but his voice did not waver. “It’s a done deal, your High—“

He did not get to finish. It’s hard to speak with a crossbow arrow between your eyes. Hrollr stared in horror as the body collapsed while the Captain drew his sword.

“Everybody, in here, now!” The Captain bellowed. “Du Bekhar!”

 

Ori did not need a water clock to guess how long it had been without word from Kili. By this point, nobody had much in the way of nails to gnaw upon any more, and in spite of the merry masks they put on for the children, they flashed each other fearful, worried looks.

Ori had tried to sleep, but worry gnawed at him like a worm; what was keeping Kili? He was the only one who knew of this room, and he would never send anybody else to send word to them, he wouldn’t take that risk. Had he been successful? Was he tracking down the dwarrow that Lasta had named and locking them up? Or had he been caught in the corridors, and was now lashed up in some cellar, begging for mercy in death? 

Had they finally given him that mercy? 

Fili had tried to take him out of his thoughts, talking to him and trying to make him laugh when he couldn’t be eased into sleeping, but now, hours later, sat pensive and silent and motionless a few yards away from Ori. Adjacent to him sat Dis, in very much a similar state, save for the absent scraping of her toes against the stone floor.

Something had to change.

Ori carefully lifted himself, his leg asleep, and hobbled over to Fili, staggering even with his cane. Standing over the King, he waited for his eyes to turn upwards to look at him. 

Years ago, a young student had left home for the very first time in the company of Kings on a journey he believed would prove to his family and himself that he was capable of more than he gave himself credit for. He did surprise and was surprised, and saw two Kings crowned Under the Mountain, but as it turned out, he was the one to be astounded at how he badly he underestimated the dwarves he called King, Prince, and Friends. 

Looking at the pensive company in the room, Ori knew that more than anything now, they needed to be astounded by their King.

“Well, your Majesty,” he said conversationally, “what do we do?”

Fili dropped his gaze after a moment, staring at his knees. Ori lightly kicked him in the leg, repeating, voice softer, “My King, your people need you. What do we do?”

The King pursed his lips before looking up again at Ori, eyes a little bright. Ori managed an encouraging smile, and extended a hand. 

Fili grasped it, and let himself be pulled upwards.

“We’re not staying here much longer,” he announced to the room. “Hurry back to your rooms and take only what you need; we meet back here in an hour, then we move out.”

 

Hrollr knocked on the Captain’s office door. “Sir, we have more warrants to sign. They’ve named more names.”

It had been easy to drag the assassin out of the vent, and even easier to bring out the backup that followed him. Every fifteen minutes one of them did not return to the base, another would crawl to the room to replace their presumably lost agent. For every fifteen minutes, one would come clanking along above them, be dragged down and out, and shut away in silence while they waited for the next one. It had been like fishing, Hrollr thought. Fishing, but if the fish weren’t half so clever. Or if the fish made a lot of noise. Or if the fish ran on a neat little schedule, and fell through the ceiling…

…very well, it was nothing like fishing. But it was late, and there was a lot of paperwork to fill out, plenty of search warrants to sign so they could conduct searches in the morning and arrest warrants for the not-fish that fell from the ceiling.

“Sir?” Hrollr called again, knocking a little louder. Still no response. 

With a huff, she elbowed the door open. There was the Captain, slumped over his desk and snoring softly into the mountains of paperwork that blanketed his desk like snow. 

She stifled a laugh, then set the new pile next to his head, draped the cloak over the back of his chair over him, and shut the door behind her on her way out.

 

“Father, I told you, lemons and oranges do not make everything palatable!”

“This one time, one time, I shall concede to you a victory over me. Clearly, this was not as good a vintage as I previously believed.”

“Father, no—“

“Yes! Something stronger, perhaps; Let’s see… Ah! Bay leafs! And nutmeg! And... ah, yes, I think so…”

“Oh no, Father, I don’t think that’s wise—“

“Oh, yes, son, I think it’s brilliant. Son, send for the raisens! It will be palatable, or I don’t deserve this crown!”

 

 

The bag on Ori’s bed currently held:

 

2 bottles of ink

2 leather-bound journals

14 metal pens (on average he loses about 3 per week; he figured that this was a reasonable compromise)

A clean change of underthings

His knitting needles and new ball of grey wool yarn

3 bars of lavender soap wrapped in brown paper and string (his secretary’s idea of a joke)

He had donned himself in every layer of clothing he intended to wear over the course of this journey, and was feeling a good stone heavier than usual with not only layers of wool and leather, but with his purse weighing ‘round his neck with every coin he could fit and the small daggers tucked about his person. Now all he needed was his walking stick.

It stood in the corner, next to his desk. He paused there to leaf through the papers on the desk’s surface, to see if there was anything to throw into the fire. There was a student’s essay, there was a page of notes from a brainstorming session for a new class, there was a page full of caricatures he had made one day while enduring a boring meeting (he remembered the delight he took in drawing the fine line of the King’s nose better than what was being discussed)…

He set them down, content that he had not done anything to endanger them even more than he had done already. He quickly scribbled out a note, using the red ink, on a new sheet of paper.

 

To whomever may find this:

I apologize for the short notice, but I’m afraid I’m going to be gone for quite some time, and will not be available to attend to my teaching duties or see to my work as Dean. Please see that my students are tended to by Professor Kenna and my administrative work by Professor Drottinn. If they would be so good as to hold these duties until I send word specifying how much longer I intend to be gone and they must continue, I would be glad of it. Until I write again, assume these duties are their inheritences.

Thank you kindly.

P.S, Hegindi, if you’re the one to find this, I’m very grateful for the soap.

 

And with that, he took his seal-bead from around his neck, rolled it in the ink pad on the desk, then rolled it upon the paper, leaving his mark of a rampant swan with a quill in its beak .

Content with his precautions, he took up his walking stick. It was a handsome thing, a simple blackwood staff with inlaid silver designs and a simple silver topper that Ori held on to as he pulled out the thin blade hidden within. Ori had never gotten to use it as a weapon, had never anticipated using it so, but still kept the thin sword in the best condition he could; the steel’s edge was still sharp and gleamed dangerously in the weakening glow of the hearth fire. 

“You’re not thinking of leaving that behind, are you?”

Ori jolted at the whispered question, fully unsheathing the blade and whipping around to wield it. Fili held his hands up defensively, apologetically. 

“Not exactly the time to be sneaking up on me,” he gasped, trying to slow his hammering heart. “Is your mother ready?”

Fili nodded, reaching for the sword’s wooden sheath and handing it back to Ori. “She was one of the first ready. We’re all waiting for you and the ones with children. Dwalin and Nori have gone to check up on them.”

Ori slid the blade back, once again wielding only a walking stick. “I’m sorry for the wait. And thank you for coming for me.”

Fili shrugged the thanks off, looking askance almost shyly. The note in red ink caught his attention, and he picked it up. “What’s this?”

“Putting some things in order.” Ori said simply. Suddenly, he felt a jolt of fear. “I tried to be vague, is it too conspicuous? I can still burn it…”

Fili interrupted him coldly. “What’s this about ‘inheritence’?”

Ori frowned, confused. “Fili, if worse comes to worse, we have to be practical about some things. These are dwarves I trust to succeed me, should I not come back.”

“Which you will,” Fili insisted, going to drop the letter in the fire.

Ori dropped his walking stick and reached out to grab Fili’s wrist. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed defiantly. Fili met Ori’s unflinching glare with a fierce one of his own, eyes wild and jaw set. 

“You’re coming back, do you understand?” Fili said, softly, coldly. “We will not be losing you, not tonight, not tomorrow, not for as long as you travel in my company. I will not…” 

Fili’s voice caught on that last phrase, and he halted his tongue. His face remained stern, but Ori saw the familiar working of the throat and felt the familiar shake in Fili’s arm that always preambled his friend’s tears.

Gently, Ori pulled the paper from Fili’s hand and slowly set it back on the desk, holding his gaze all the while. At his nod, Fili’s arms went around Ori’s waist, bending to hide his face in the crook of the Scribe’s neck and shoulder, letting his shoulders relax and shake when he felt Ori’s arms wrap around his back.

“I’m sorry,” Ori whispered. We don’t know whether or not to mourn, he thought, we can’t stay to find out, and I’m the one who brought this danger to your doorstep. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m not losing you, too,” he heard Fili’s muffled voice say, shaky and damp against the layers of coat and sweaters. “Can’t survive that, too.”

Ori clung a little tighter, thoughts frantic: No, no, you silly dwarf, I’m the fellow that pushed the monster to your hearth, I’m the one that trusts the first lie I hear, it’s likely you’d get an additional fifteen years to your lifespan if you just cut off all ties to me, how can you say that when what I brought to you took your brother away, how can you think that when “I’m so very sorry, Fili.”

They stood like that a minute more, until Fili pulled himself away, still close enough to have his hands on Ori’s shoulders and let Ori’s hands settle on his arms. Fili’s eye was red-rimmed and dull and beard a little matted, and Ori smoothed the hair away from his brow, and managed a small half-smile. Fili closed his eye into the touch, whispering, “what if he doesn’t know where we’ve gone? He’ll be so scared, he doesn’t do well apart from me.”

Ori coughed out a chuckle. “With all due respect, Majesty, I don’t think he’s the only one with that problem.”

That prompted a small smile. “Yes, you’re lost without me, too.”

Ori snorted, pinching Fili’s brow lightly before pulling his hand away. “I’ll tell you what I suggest; nobody outside the Line of Durin and the Company knows of the existence of the Saferoom, yes? Not even Kili’s most trusted Dwarves?”

He waited for Fili’s affirmative nod before continuing. “Why not leave a note for him, for whenever he comes back? Keep it short, keep it vague, just to give him an idea that we’re all well and on our way, and he’ll know to catch up.”

Fili closed his eyes, absorbingly. Ori squeezed his arms softly, asking, “does that sound like a reasonable plan?”

Fili inhaled and exhaled slowly before slumping again to that damp spot between Ori’s neck and shoulder. “Did I do right, Ori? Deciding to head out tonight? Deciding to head out at all, without Kili?”

Ori raised himself to his toes, to decrease the amount Fili had to bend down, lifting his arms to settle around him again. “I haven’t doubted you a moment. Kili wouldn’t, either.”

Fili was not comforted. “I should stay; I should find him, I should get you out of here, then stay here and sort this all out, I should not be running away—“

“No, no, you should carry on as you are,” Ori insisted firmly. “What good is a dead King? No, you will leave, and Kili will find us when he finds us.” He pulled away, lifting Fili’s head off his shoulder to meet him eye-to-eye. “You will leave, you will live, and then you will come back and lead your people.”

Fili dropped his gaze to the floor, steeling himself again. Ori let him go and went to retrieve his dropped walking stick. “Who’s going to rule while you’re gone?”

“That was a fun decision to make,” he laughed bitterly. “You know I wanted Balin or Mother or Kili in charge when I left. In Balin’s case, he’d nominate either Dwalin or you. Kili would name you, too. You were getting all ready to groom Lasta to be your Right Hand, and that didn’t quite pan out.”

“What about your mother?” Ori asked, leaning on the stick and lifting himself upwards.

Fili sighed and rubbed his temples. “She’s not safe here. I’m not letting her stay, and she’s not letting me out of her sight after everything that’s happened tonight. I made a terrible mistake, Ori. I haven’t bothered to trust anybody who wasn’t related to me, or went on the Quest with me, when it came to the throne.”

Ori leant on his walking stick thoughtfully. “You haven’t named anybody, have you?”

Fili barked a self-derisive laugh and pushed his hair out of his face, shaking his head. “Fuck, but I’m an idiot. I didn’t think to leave a note in my room, like you did.”

Ori smiled at the compliment, but thought carefully. “Who ranks beneath Balin in your advisors?”

“Directly? Lady Otti, but they’ve got as much as common as chalk and chalcedony.”

Ori nodded. “Very well; is she loyal?”

Fili looked surprised. “Of course.”

“Did she support the Fiery Hammers?”

“I just said she was loyal!” 

“Clever?”

Fili snorted a laugh. “Is she ever! The battles she and Balin had over how to corner the Hammers… I’ve never been gladder for the restriction of weapons at meetings. She was all for these really underhanded, Sneaky-Bastard approaches, and you remember how Balin was about being really aggressively straightforward in his approach…”

His voice trailed off at Ori’s thoughtful expression. “Oh Ori, you are not thinking that.”

Ori only shrugged. “Maybe it’s time for some Sneaky-Bastardry. You could leave a little note, saying if Kili declines the position, you would nominate Lady Otti as your representative. Do whatever you deem wisest, of course, but that’s what I would suggest. Of course,” he chuckled bitterly, “this is coming from the dwarf that suggested a Fiery Hammer to you.”

“None of that,” Fili ordered. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have guessed. End of story. Now, help me write a properly vague little declaration, and let’s not keep the others waiting any longer than need be. And we’ll have to remember to grab your shield.”

Ori sighed. “I do hate lugging that thing around.”

Fili grinned. “Oh, you won’t be carrying it. D’you know it’s beautiful outside? The new snow just cleaned everything up, it’s brilliant.”

 

Kili awoke to a knock at his door with a terrific stiffness in his back and the corner of an arrest warrant tickling his nose. Feeling each vertebrae in his back cracking, he slowly sat up then out of his chair. 

“Come in,” he called to the door.

Hrollr shouldered open the door, holding two mugs of tea in her hands and a sheaf of papers in her teeth. Her carefully-coiled hair was beginning to frizz out cloud-like about her head, and there were circles like bruises under her eyes. Kili took the mug she extended to him, and she handed him the papers, greeting him with a “good morning, Captain.”

He froze mid-sip. “Morning? How early is it, Lieutenant?”

She took a sip from her own mug to hide her smile. “Captain, you slept like a bairn. It’s good you’re up now, you’re close to missing breakfast.”

Kili’s blood went cold as the water-clock confirmed his fears. Here he’d been, having a nice sleep when he’d only meant to sign some forms and then hand the investigation off to Hrollr before finding his family again in the Saferoom, and Mahal in his Halls, the Saferoom.

“Shit!” he cried, slamming the mug down on the desk and dashing out the door, Hrollr following swiftly.

 

From the outside, the Lonely Mountain was a pristine white, the newly-fallen snow softly and evenly blanketing the grey rock so not a blemish of darkness showed. 

There was a series of thumps, then a crunch before a small whirpool of snow poured in at a spot in the mountain’s wall, as close to the top as life would permit, where a hole had been hammered around a window in the mountain’s interior. The Princess Dis poked her dark, hooded head out of this gaping hole, experimentally pushed a shield out, then turned her head to speak to the Company within.

“All right, I can get a whole shield out; I think you can get out, too, Dwalin.”

Returning his hammer to his side, Dwalin offered, “let me go first, Princess.”

“No, no, good sir,” said the princess. “First in war, first in peace, first to sled down the mountain. Fili, get on. The shield’s big enough for two. Everybody, we shall meet you at the bottom. Be ready to walk, there’s more snow coming and it should cover our tracks quite nicely.”

Fili endured the ribbing and laughter of the Company as he clambered on, looking over his shoulder before the descent. 

“Good Dwarves and Dwarrowdams, I ask that you remember me fondly as a relatively tolerable ruler, and—OHSWEETMERCIFULMAHAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllll”

The scream slowly died the further they slid down the mountain, until the two were but two small dots at the base. Under the company’s observation, the dots, after slowly getting to their feet, began to bury the shield-sled in the snow.

“Nose goes next,” said Bofur casually.

 

Kili remembered very little of the run to the Royal Quarters, not the crowds that parted in his way or Hrollr’s frantic questions, only the steady line of "shitshitshitshitshitshitshit" running through his head as he went faster than he had ever gone before.

He skidded to a halt in front of Fili’s room, turning to Hrollr and firmly ordering her to stay before going in. Before he could tear open the trapdoor and barrel on down the stairs, though, a folded note on the floor stopped him. Upon it was Durin’s Crown with its seven stars, his brother’s seal as King. He tore it open, reading: 

 

To whoever finds this first:

I, Fili, Son of Nali and Dis, King Under the Mountain, do regrettably announce my intention to leave Erebor and temporarily step away from my duties as King for the safety of myself and the safety of my family. Until my return, I leave my crown in the hands of my younger brother, Kili. Should he, for any reason, not be available to claim these duties, I bequeath them to my advisor, the Lady Otti. 

So I decree, so it shall be done.

 

And below it, damn all the luck, were the signatures of the Company and their Mother, even those of Bombur’s children, and young Gimli’s. 

Kili exhaled with a whoosh. There was no time to waste, then; perhaps they were getting ready to go now? 

“Only one way to know,” he muttered, making his way down to the Saferoom.

He heard no sounds as he descended, not even a peep from Gimli. “Is anybody down here?” he hissed loudly. He felt his spine go to water at the resounding silence.

Of course, there was another note in the center of the bloody room.

 

Hullo, Kili, 

We’re on our way out now. I’ve left a note in my room detailing what’s to be done in my absence. If you think it wise, the crown is yours to wear for as long as I’m gone. If not, it goes to Lady Otti. Ori’s left one behind, too, in his room. Make sure those get delivered to wherever they need to go.

See you soon, and be good in the meanwhile

Fili

 

Oh fuck.

He practically flew up the stairs that led to his mother’s room. Maybe they still stood there, getting ready to clamber out of her skylight, and they’d be so glad to hear the news and Kili would not have to be the bloody King and have even more paperwork to sign…

But all that stood to greet him in his mother’s rooms were a pile of rubble, a massive puddle of molten snow, a terrific chill, and a massive hole where the skylight once was through which snowflakes continued to gently fall.

 

When Hrollr saw the Captain again a good half hour later, he was moving much more slowly, clutching a handful of letters.

“Sir?” she asked, “what’s happened? Where is the Royal Family?”

He carefully tucked the letters into his pocket. “They’ve made a run for it.”

She couldn’t help her small gasp of surprise. “Sir, what are you going to do?”

He smiled ruefully. “I’m going to run after them.”


	3. Chapter 3

Legolas stood guard at his father’s door, back straight and shoulders stiff, keeping his face stony against the sounds of his father’s bellows and curses within his chambers. He had learnt, long ago, how to endure the King’s bursts of outrage with silent patience.

He smiled in greeting at Tauriel as she passed by in the corridor, clearly on her way to the armory if the empty baldric around her waist was any indication. 

She nodded, returning the greeting. She slowed her walk as she approached, mouthing, “how is he?”, pointing to the door. 

He nodded, giving her a thumbs-up. A resounding “Eru fucking Illuvatar on a fucking hobby-horse!” came from the other side of the door, then a loud metallic clatter against the wood said otherwise. 

Tauriel cringed sympathetically and mouthed, “Need help?”

He shook his head, “Nah. We’re good.”

“You sure? Because I’m going downstairs, and if you need anything—“

“Nah, nah.”

“—Like a flail, or a mace, I can get one—“

“Nah, it’s good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, you go on, it’s—“

The voice behind the door wailed again; “What the actual fucking—arrrrgh!”

Legolas rolled his eyes skywards before he waved Tauriel on her way. She clapped his shoulder, comradely, mouthing “good luck,” then continued on her way.

Legolas was sure he’d need it when he heard his father call for more cloves and mace.

 

The Captain’s office was not a small space, by any means; Hrollr knew for a fact that it took up exactly the space of two and three-quarters offices (she had discovered this one afternoon whilst waiting for the Captain to arrive for a meeting; he was not always known for his punctuality). Yet between the file cabinets, the files spilling out of said cabinets, the mountains of paperwork pouring from his desk upon the floor, the second desk whose sole purpose was dedicated to keeping at least some of the paperwork off the floor, and the battered taxidermy fish hanging in the corner above the file cabinets, the room managed to look very small and oppressing.

(Nobody quite knew the story of the fish, what variety is was, or who was responsible for putting it there. It had been in monstrously bad shape when they had found the office, with one glass eye gone and the other replaced with a button hanging on a thread and gaping mouth bare of teeth, thus earning the name ‘Toothy Jim.’ The Captain often said the greatest testament to his courage was how long he had endured sharing that office with Toothy Jim gaping at the back of his head.)

At the moment, the Captain was gingerly going over the weapon collection hanging on the wall (the only space in the office he bothered to maintain), muttering to himself as he took each one down to examine it. The weapons would either be mounted on the wall again, or set down upon the table. At the moment, the table held his bow, a quiver full of arrows, a broadsword, and two sgian dhus. Now, he was critically looking over an iron mace, one that he had set back on the wall earlier.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“What do you think of this one?” he asked, holding the mace out to her. “You’re the mace expert between the two of us.”

Thoughtfully, she weighed it in her hands, swung it experimentally. The mace was her usual weapon of choice, that was true, but she was hardly an expert yet. In another forty years, maybe, but certainly not now. Still, she could tell it was an excellent weapon; its weight felt powerful in her grasp, not at like a burden. Were it hers, she could do some damage.

“I think it’s worth taking along, Sir,” she replied, extending it back to him. “I can hold it comfortably, it should be nothing for you.”

He did not take it back, though. “Good to know,” he said with a smile. 

She was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, holding this beauty of a weapon out only to be ignored, when the young Sergeant opened the door.

“You asked to see me, Sir,” said Sergeant Gjarn with a smart click of his heels as he saluted.

“At ease,” said the Captain. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Sergeant. I’m to embark on an emergency mission, and will be away for some time. Until the time I return, I’m appointing you to act as Captain in my stead.”

Hrollr gave a start, eyes going wide.

The Sergeant’s mouth fell open with wonder. “Sir, I… I don’t know what to say. But… shouldn’t Lieutenant Hrollr take over for you?”

Hrollr felt the Captain’s hand on her shoulder. “This is the kind of emergency which demands that I take my Lieutenant with me,” he said, solemn and firm. 

His hand left her shoulder as he turned his attention to the Sergeant. “Now, Gjarn, do you accept the post and its responsibilities?”

The young fellow nodded eagerly. “Oh, I very much do, Sir, thank you Sir! When do I start?”

The Captain clapped him on the shoulder. “Good lad, very eager, aren’t you? If all goes as planned, this afternoon.”

The Sergeant did not look so pleased at that news. “This afternoon? But… “

“Come, Lieutenant,” said the Captain, gathering up the weapons. “Take your mace and any other weapons you deem fit, then get what you’ll need. If we want to leave before the day is out, we’ll have to hurry.”

“Sir,” the Sergeant asked, voice barely a squeak, “are the others… do they know I’m to act as Captain?”

“Oh, they will,” said the Captain breezily, slinging the quiver over his shoulder.

“But Sir!” the Sergeant continued to protest. “I’m not sure if…” we faltered, grasping for straws. “Isn’t there a… a procedure of sorts for this sort of thing? Otherwise it’s not proper, to go dashing off like this!”

That gave the Captain pause. “A procedure, you say?” he asked.

The Sergeant nodded, eagerly. “Yes! To, to make it official and all, you see.”

The Captain nodded slowly. “Ah yes. Yes, there just may be.”

He stood behind the Sergeant, took his shoulders, and directed his gaze to Toothy Jim. “Do you see yon fish above the filing cabinet?”

The Sergeant gasped. “Ah, good,” said the Captain approvingly. “That’s old Toothy Jim. He’s been in this office since the post of Captain of the Guard was created. Hrollr, will you act as witness?”

Helpless and confused, she could do nothing but nod. 

The Captain cleared his throat. “Now, Sergeant, repeat after me. Oh Toothy Jim.”

“Oh… Toothy Jim?”

Hrollr rolled her eyes at the absurd affair, selecting a short sword in addition to the mace from the wall of weapons as she listened to the Captain continuing the “ritual” with mock-solemnity.

“I, state your name.”

The Sergeant gulped. “I, Gjarn son of Gagn and Hagr.”

“Do vow upon your eye.”

“Do vow upon your… eye.”

“To do my duty in a fashion that will suit it best.”

“To do my duty in a fashion that will suit it best.”

The Captain clapped him on the shoulder and went to gather up the rest of the weapons briskly. “Congratulations, Acting-Captain. Corporal Afli will act as your Lieutenant. Make sure the Corporal is aware of the good news.”

He looked at the clock, and held the door open for Hrollr. “Come, Lieutenant,” he said. “Time’s a-wasting. Good luck, Acting-Captain Gjarn. I’ll write you soon.”

 

Fili, the Golden Lion of Erebor, King Under the Mountain, was currently engaged in making horsie noises. Wee Breyta (or was it Breyti?) laughed merrily at this latest attempt, and grabbed his nose.

“I think I’m doing fairly well,” he said to Ori. “They don’t grab Bombur’s nose when he does it.”

“That’s because Adad does it better than you,” Bodhir piped up. “Breyta’s trying to get you to stop.”

“Hmm, I dunno,” said Fili thoughtfully. “My Lady Mother can do a wonderful impersonation. Would you say I do the animal justice?”

Princess Dis, who currently held the other twin on her lap, hummed noncommittally. “You’re about as good as your father,” was all she’d say on the matter.

After their slide down the mountain, they had buried their shields and walked in the direction of the new settlement of Dale. There was no chance they could purchase something as large and conspicuous as ponies to quicken the journey in a place like Dale, they’d be recognized too quickly; what they needed most and would have to acquire was shelter for the cold weather. Fili, when originally planning his Shire journey, had arranged a route that would take them through largely metropolitan areas where the presence of Inns were a given. Alas, there was no chance of pursuing that plan, now. 

Dori had volunteered to go into Dale to purchase several lengths of the heaviest, warmest hides and cloths that could be used to cover tents. He was a familiar-enough face, as founder of the Erebor Weaver’s Guild. He was also in the best temper after a night of little sleep and a morning spent speeding down a mountain. Nori, naturally, volunteered to accompany him, and Ori would have gone as well, but his leg was too sore and he was still too shaken from the events of that morning. Dwalin had demanded to go, as well, but his presence would draw too much attention. The brothers had decided that they would be going into the shops under the pretense of finding materials to make a set of new winter clothes for their youngest brother and Nori’s husband, and with that story in their minds, they had left the rest of the party beneath the fir tree on the outskirts of town.

They had been sitting for not a quarter of an hour, when Seydhir had announced that the tension gathering in the air was choking her and had allowed the Company to hold the baby twins to help them relax. Thus far, Fili and Dis had held them the longest.

Fili attempted another horsie noise, but was cut off when Breyta pinched his nose harder than before, and he let out a pained cry.

Ori hooted with laughter. “Try your ass impersonation; that one comes much more naturally to you.”

“Oh, ha-bloody-ha,” Fili growled, sounding a lot less threatening than usual with his nose pinched by a bairn. “First order of business when we get back to Erebor, I’ll have all your underthings washed with poison oak.”

Ori only laughed harder, nearly falling over where he sat. When he had calmed down enough, Fili asked, “D’you want to hold Breyta?”

The Scribe’s smile melted away in surprise. “Fili, I’m not sure, I’m not the best with bairns…”

“Well, I’ll help you,” Fili offered, scooting closer. “Here, just hold the wee badger with me.”

“Fili, I’ll drop—“

“No, you won’t, promise, just hold out your arms like—“

Dis cut them off crisply. “That lesson can wait. My Lord Scribe, your brothers are returning. Fili, give Breyta back. We’ll meet them and continue onwards along the river.”

Sure enough, Dori and Nori were emerging from the town walls, the pair hunched under the weight of their purchases. Fili made to apologize to Ori, to promise that the lesson would continue another day, but Ori only smiled softly and nudged him off towards Breyta’s parents. 

As he handed the bairn back, he gently extracted his nose from the child’s firm grasp with Seydhir’s help. Once she had freed him, the dwarrowdam’s eyes twinkled mischievously as she handed Breyta to his father who, indeed, made the best horsie sound out of all of them.

 

Hrollr was sullenly silent as she and Kili saddled their ponies and loaded their bags on them.

“Lieutenant,” said Kili in what he hoped was a light tone, “you’re being quieter than usual.”

She did not respond. Resigned, Kili went back to securing the saddle straps.

“Sir, with all due respect, Sergeant Gjarn is a fool,” he suddenly heard her say.

Kili blinked, confused. “Lieutenant, I know that this is a situation that would normally have you performing as Acting-Captain, but you must believe that the Sergeant, silly as he may be, is a very organized fellow and a very obedient one. My brother’s representative and he will work well together, and I know that the both of them will keep the throne secure for Fili. When we find him, which should be no great journey, we’ll tell him what happened in the dungeons, and that it will be safe to return, with the search underway. It’s only temporary.”

Her face was diverted from him, focused on the pony’s bridle, but he saw the angry flush in her cheeks and the firm set of her jaw. “Sir,” she said, voice hard, ” I wish you’d tell me when you don’t trust me to do a job right.”

Oh.

That was a feeling he knew well, he felt very silly for missing it; the outrage was only the seasoning in a whole stew of disappointment and insecurity and all the other demons that plagued the young and brave.

He had to think; what would Thorin say? 

No, no, what did he wish Thorin would say?

Haltingly, he spoke again. “I meant when I said I needed my Lieutenant. This isn’t a journey I can make alone, nor do I want it to be alone. Gjarn will one day make a fine bureaucrat, but that can’t help me over the Misty Mountains, can it? If we run into Goblins, I can tell you with certainty that they don’t give tuppence for bureaucracy. One of their better traits, I think.”

She still did not look at him as she continued to tack her pony, but he saw her bite her lip to smother a giggle. Thus encouraged, he went on. “Besides, you can’t really claim that you’d actually want to be buried beneath paperwork while I run out and have all the fun?”

“Isn’t paperwork a goodly portion of the whole job?”

He shuddered. “Maybe, but I want you to actually want to take the job someday.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re taking me on an errand that may or may not result in facing Goblins?”

“Would you rather be in an office all day with Toothy Jim glaring at you?”

It was her turn to shudder. “Point taken. Where did you say they exited the mountain from?”

“The East side, from my Mother’s skylight. The snow will have covered their tracks, but they’re bound to have stopped in Dale. Perhaps we’ll catch them there and be back for supper tonight.”

 

Corporal Afli saluted to the Sergeant. “You asked for me, Sir?”

“At ease,” said the Sergeant. “That I did. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Sir, why are we in the Captain’s office?”

“Well, Corporal, it’s to be my office for a little while the Captain is away. And you’re to be my Lieutenant.”

The Corporal was gobsmacked. “Truly, Sir? I’m honoured. Shall we tell the others?”

The Sergeant blanched a little. “Ah, not yet; there’s a bit of business I wish to see to first, just private, betwixt us.”

The Corporal, now Acting-Lieutenant, nodded quickly. “Certainly, Sir, what is it?”

“Could you please help me get that bloody fish down from up there”

 

It had been, all things considered, a rather good day to escape assassins. The snow had fallen all day long, covering their tracks neatly and evenly as they walked along the frozen river towards the old ruins of Laketown. The makeshift tents, made from the furs and heavy felts stretched over makeshift posts from whatever trees’ branches they could break off, proved to be useful and reasonably warm over the course of the few days’ journey. 

What did not promise to hold up was the meagre food supply they had brought with them.

Now, on the third night of their journey, the King and his Mother stood thoughtfully at the border of the Greenwood, the rest of their Company a ways away behind them.

“And you’re sure it’s the only way?” Fili asked his mother. 

“Do you see any bridges going over the dratted place?” she asked drily. “You should know; you came here through there, I came through there, it only stands to reason that we should go through there if we want to leave. It’s really one of our better defenses; you either stay put, or stay out.”

Fili snorted, and his mother chuckled herself. “No, really, you shall have to send them a fruit basket or something someday when it’s warm again,” she joked. “It’s only right that a King acknowledges every one of his guards.”

“Durin’s beard,” Fili guffawed. “I’ll let Ori write that card.”

Dis did not share in his humour at that. Her son looked at her askance, confused. “Mother? What?” He frowned at the dark stormclouds in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She turned her face back to the forest and cleared her throat. “Thranduil is no friend of ours, but he is an ally in that he shares our foes. We can knock at his door for assistance in this small matter. The worst he can do in return is ask for gold.”

She turned to the Company and called, “we’re going to pay his Majesty Thranduil a visit. Chins up.”

 

Kili prodded at the fire absently. He looked behind him, into the tent he and Hrollr had propped up to to shelter them and the ponies and to block the wind for the third night now. Laketown’s ruins were at least half a day’s ride before them, but there was no way he could think of letting them continue in this dark and this biting cold, with the wind whipping about them.

Now, Hrollr was asleep, cocooned in her blanket within the tent, next to the ponies. He felt awful for telling her this would be a short journey, he had honestly meant it to be the truth. He hadn’t counted on his brother moving this quickly. 

He looked up at the stars; there was the Three-Headed Troll pursued by the Ever-Flying Spear of Durin the Deathless above them, below them what Bilbo had called the Great Barrel. Kili chuckled absently; leave it to a Hobbit to find a garden beside an eternal battle in the stars. He hoped Bilbo would like his gift; now, even more, he hoped he and Fili would give it to him together, as they had planned. 

Hrollr cried out behind him. He whirled around, hand reaching for his sword. His Lieutenant was sitting bolt upright on her bedroll, eyes wide and breathing heavily.

“Hrollr, what’s wrong?”

She turned slowly to look at him. “Bells?” she asked, voice younger than he had ever heard it. 

He listened, confused; he could only hear the wind over the mounds of snow. “What bells?” 

She exhaled softly, looking aside before collapsing back to her bedroll.

Kili stared, flummoxed, then giggled. He had not pegged her for the sleeptalking kind. Still giggling, he looked at the mace she had left on the spot where she had sat earlier beside the fire. He smiled at it, wondering how Azog would have felt, not only having his weapon chopped and altered to be the right size and weight for a dwarf, but put in the hands of one of the best Dwarves of Erebor. Nauseated, probably. 

He decided to give her another hour to sleep before waking her for her watch, settling the mace next to her like a child’s toy. She mumbled again, something about dancing, then rolled over.

Kili bit his hand to stifle his laugh; she would hear of this, come morning. And Fili, too, once they caught up to him.

 

Fili loved his mother dearly, but there were times her logic put him off. He was sure there was a more dignified way for an escaping King to announce himself at a surprise visit than purposefully setting off the alarum bell. 

“If there is a more dignified way, I’ve yet to find one,” she had said to him. “Besides, old Thrandy is bound to have the entire place rigged up to the heavens; it should take no time.”

Well, here they were, hours later, colder and even worse for wear, still looking for a bloody alarum. 

“Amad, couldn’t we pitch a tent? We’re exhausted, and the later it is, the colder it gets.”

She shook her head. “No, I’d rather be caught by ally guards on purpose than by enemies by surprise. Keep tramping about.”

“Your Highness,” Ori called from the brambles, “I think they gave up on Security ages ago, and now count on the woods to do in any unwanted intruders. And something tells me we are very much unwanted here.”

She placed her hands on her hips, speaking coldly to the Scribe. “Master Ori, I was sure you knew—when you want something, even when you know you are unwanted, it is only natural to make yourself clamorous. Well, we have a very powerful need, not a want, so naturally I aim to be exceedingly clamorous, bordering upon obnoxious.”

No sooner had she spoke then Gimli hit his head on a branch, setting off a trememdous, shrill sound, like a chorus of screaming birds. The Princess Dis turned to the wide-eyed young dwarf, first wide-eyed with astonishment, then nodding approvingly.

 

“Hey. Hey.”

“Yes, Hrollr, what is it? I’m right here.”

“Hey. Captain.”

“Yes, Hrollr.”

“Captain.”

“Oh Mahal… Yes, Hrollr?”

“You can’t swim.”

“Damn right I can’t. Can you?”

“Yeah. Don’t fall off the whale, yeah?”

“I’ll try not to, Hrollr.”

“Yeah… Captain? Captain.”

“Yes, Hrollr?”

“I fed the whale perfume. Does it know it committed cannibalism?”

“Hrollr, I’m waking you up now.”

“Yeah…”

 

Tauriel, hand on the skylight above the tunnel, looked over her Elven Guard and met the eyes of all the others positioned at the other trapdoors. Silently, she counted off, three… two…. Go, and the doors were flung open and the Guards shot up from the earth to the forest floor, bows drawn, easily surrounding the small party of intruders.

The point of her arrow pressed a hairsbreadth away from a familiar long nose on a familiar gold-framed face.

“My lady Tauriel,” King Fili greeted, his smile a mite forced and his hands held up in a signal of peaceful surrender. He stood at the front of a cloud of dwarves, most of whom she recognized and remembered being in a very familiar situation with her and her Guard, some of whom she only barely recognised out of court dress.

Signaling to her Guard to put down their weapons, she nodded a greeting to the King Under the Mountain. “You Line of Durin,” she sighed. “Of course it’s always you. What brings you here, O King?”

He looked to a dwarf Tauriel recognised as Fili and Kili’s mother. The Dwarrowdam gave him a sharp nod, and the King heaved a sigh and spoke.

“Well, there’s no nice way to put it. If you could capture us and bring us to your King, that would be just dandy.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Fili had last been guest to the Elven King, he had been a prisoner, bound and woozy from venom. This time, he was grossly disappointed that very little had changed; he may have felt sharper, and Tauriel had ordered her Guards against shackling him and his company this time, but he was still a prisoner. 

He could hear Thranduil’s drawl now: “Oh, your Majesty, must you always come to my halls in such a fashion? Couldn’t even manage a calling-card, at the very least? I never know whether or not to have rooms at the ready for you; it certainly keeps things exciting here, it’s all the gossip I hear, ‘Will Thranduil Be Entertaining The King Under the Mountain Tonight?’” And through it all, Fili would smile, part amused, part sheepish, equal parts politeness and diplomacy.

Mahal in his halls, the prospect of it made Fili want to puke.

He felt a jolt of surprise when they took a sharp left just before taking the corridor that he remembered led to the throne. This passage was lined with office doors, swimming with elves in uniform carrying paperwork, and smelling strongly of coffee.

He shared a knowing look with Balin; here was the backstage of Thranduil’s courtly theatre. 

They stopped before a door with a brass plaque, a name inscribed in the fiddly elvish writing that Fili did not get a chance to read. Tauriel barked something at the Guards attending them, and the pack of them dispersed. The Elven Captain then knocked on the door, listened, then when she heard no response, unlocked it and pushed it open.

It was an office, not unlike Kili’s (with the exclusion of the damnable fish, thank goodness), with file cabinets and a bookshelf and mounds of paperwork on the desk. There were several chairs in the room, many of which stood around a lovely iron stove that struck a note of recognition in Fili’s mind. 

“Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable,” said Tauriel as she held the door open. “I’ll send him to you straightaway.”

Once they were all inside the office, she shut the door.

“Who is she sending for?” Gimli demanded, reluctantly following the others’ example by putting his weapons in a corner on the floor. 

“Presumably, old Thickhead-Thrandy,” Gloin groused. 

“Of course, we won’t be calling him that,” said Mizim, sharply elbowing her husband in the ribs. “He’s to be addressed as ‘Your Majesty,’ Gimli. When we’re on the road again, you can call him whatever you like, but dear son, until then, don’t behave like your father.”

“Oh dear,” Ori muttered, taking a look at desk and the papers littered upon it.

“What is it?” Nori asked, leaning over his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not a warrant for our execution, is it?”

Ori shook his head slowly, wonderingly. “Gimli,” he said absently, “the title you’ll want to be using is ‘Your Highness.’”

Fili felt his spirits lift minimally, immediately recognising the stove. 

There was another knock at the door before it opened, and in stepped Prince Legolas, looking a little worse for wear but smiling politely all the same. “Your Majesty,” he greeted Fili with a bow, adding a bow for “your honoured family, and Company. Welcome to Greenwood. To what do I owe this pleasure? Surely you haven’t travelled this far to see if the stove you and your brother had made for me is still functional? Or to make sure I unwrapped it? As I recall, it took two winters to finish all the wrapping paper up as kindling.”

Fili managed a genuine smile; he and Kili had crafted the stove as an act of goodwill to the Prince and the Mirkwood Guard after the Battle. Wrapping it excessively in endless yards of brown paper had been Kili’s idea of a joke. It was true, he and Prince Legolas would probably always have at least a drop of bad blood between them, ancestral differences and all, but he still liked him infinitely more than his father, and he had promised, after the battle, to be respectful of his brother’s friendship with the prince.

“I’m afraid it’s graver than that, your Highness,” he said. “You see, we’re escaping.”

Legolas frowned. “Escaping? Whatever from?”

Fili squared his shoulders. “There’s a bit of a tale to that, but the gist of it is this: my entire Line and many of my Shieldbrothers are threatened by a resurgance of Smaug-worshippers in the mountain, and so we are escaping to the Shire.”

Legolas frowned, blinked, and opened and closed his mouth a few times before deciding on simply saying, “I’ll call for coffee.”

 

(3 Days Earlier)

Lady Otti was at tea when her valet told her of the knocking at the door. “Show them in,” she said, setting down her tea cup and standing up, smoothing the skirt of her rosy-velvet dressing gown. 

Shortly after, two young Dwarves in the uniforms of the Royal Guard were shown in, saluting smartly, if a touch exaggeratedly. 

“Acting-Captain Gjarn,” said one.

“And Acting-Lieutenant Afli,” said the other. Both were At Her Service.

“Lady Otti, at yours,” she replied as graciously as she knew. “What business do you bring me? And why are you Acting? Where are the ones you impersonate?”

They smiled nervously, and the fellow named Gjarn stepped forward, hesitantly at first, then with a brisk stride, with an envelope. “Our parts have been cast by the Captain of the Guard himself, Crown Prince Kili, and our business is to bring you a message from the King himself.”

She received it and tore it open, with a small snort of derision. “Are you sure it was from the King, and not the Acting-King? Goodness, perhaps it was meant for the Acting-Lady Otti, I’d certainly like to meet…”

She did not finish her comment as she read the message from the King. Overwhelmed, she slowly sat back down in her chair, feeling the weight of the mountain upon her shoulders already.

Once she had collected herself, she looked back up at the two Dwarves. “Good fellows,” she said slowly, “it appears I am your Acting-Queen.”

 

(Now)

 

Once King Fili had told his story to the Prince, Legolas had wasted no time in arranging for his Company to have rooms made up for them and a warm supper prepared. While they had waited for word that the rooms were ready, Legolas had called for coffee and asked to hear the Tale of the Great Shield Sledding in more detail, a request that Bodhir and Seybur happily fulfilled. 

When a green-clad page reported that the rooms were ready, Legolas said, “I will show King Fili to his room; there is some business we must settle between us, first. Idril, see that word is sent to our guests when supper is ready.”

As the Company filed out, taking their weapons with them, Dis and Ori lingered, Dis embracing her son and whispering in his ear, “if anything goes amiss, you can still headbutt him, that should give you time to get to your sword.”

“Love you too, Amad,” he replied drily, kissing her brow.

Ori did not approach him, but hovered uncomfortably far to the side in Fili's line of vision, a nervous glint in his eyes. Over Dis’ head, Fili shot what he hoped was a winning, yet subtle, smile. Judging by Ori’s hesitant, amused smirk, he had not quite hit the mark, but done well enough. 

Then he was alone with the Prince.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said the elf, “but how long do you think you’ll be needing to spend here? Please understand, I would not object to keeping you and your Company here all winter if need be, but…”

“…your father,” Fili finished for him. 

The Prince smiled ruefully. “You’ve hit the nail right on the head. The good news is that he’s… indisposed at the moment, and is likely to be occupied for the rest of the week, with the rate things are going.”

“Where is his business?” asked the King. “Out of Greenwood?”

The Prince shook his head, smiling bitterly. “Alas, it’s still here in his halls, in his private quarters. My father is engrossed in a new project, and refuses to leave until he has come to an acceptable conclusion.”

“So, you are Lord of Greenwood in the meanwhile?”

Legolas shook his head. “Oh no, I’m just meant to guard his chambers while he works, but he… is not gracious to the idea of being interrupted. So, I carry on for him.”

Fili frowned. “I thought you weren’t Lord of Greenwood?”

Legolas barked out a short, bitter laugh. “I may as well be; time stops when the King is busy, as far as my father’s concerned. I doubt he has any idea of my real workload while he’s tucked himself away. But,” he said briskly, setting down his coffee cup, “enough of my griping. You have my blessing to stay in our halls for as long as you need. Our defenses are good, and we are close enough so that you may correspond easily with your own Kingdom.”

Fili shook his head. “That’s too much to ask of you, your Highness, I don’t think I could ever repay you…”

Legolas held up a hand, halting him. “I’ve had it up to my ears with the whole ‘debt’ argument. From you and your brother. If it puts you at ease, consider this repayment for that stunt the pair of you pulled all those years ago at the Battle, for Tauriel.”

Fili shook his head, wonderingly. “That’s steep gratitude. Too steep, yet.”

Legolas shrugged. “Well, what would you have, then?”

Fili pursed his lips. “The children we have with us. Would you keep them here while I lead the others out? And,” he quickly added, “the two most aged members of our company, Balin and Oin? And our Scribe?”

Legolas raised his eyebrows at that. “Your children and elders, I can understand, but your Scribe? He’s not much older than you, isn’t he?”

“He bears a wound upon his leg,” Fili explained. “It pains him especially in this cold.”

The Elf prince looked at the Dwarf king with a piercing, pensive gaze before smiling a small, private smirk. “Very well.”

Before Fili could spend too long pondering just what the Elf had found so amusing, Legolas was again all business and made for the door. “I suggest you rest easy tonight; have supper, sleep, and not think on this business until tomorrow. Let me deal with my father.”

Fili did not move from where he stood. “And if he will not hear you? If he is as engrossed as you say…”

There was another laugh from Legolas, a dark one. “Trust me, he can find time to take away from this one, even if I have to make him find it.

 

Gimli was unsure whether to be chuffed or resentful that the rooms he and his parents had been given were lacking in nothing—the beds were comfortable and warm, the baths and other plumbing were faultless and the spouts retained their dwarvish manufacturer’s seal, there were even bars of soap that did not reek of flowers (in anise and cinnamon, and a bright tropical scent that was quickly growing on him). 

The elf that had taken led them to this room had not been rude in the least, and had offered to send for supplies with which to clean their weapons and clean clothes. Gimli’s father had bristled at the idea, and his mother had been skeptical, but the elf did not push the subject and let them be, saying that they were free to roam wherever they liked in the halls. True enough, no elf stood sentry at the door, and no elf stood to question Gimli when he ventured out to walk the corridor. The freedom and surprising politeness had so unnerved him, he made a tactical retreat back to the room to test out the bath.

The bathtub had been enormous to them, all three could’ve sat comfortably within it, had they put their mind to it. After they had all bathed, Amad had gotten the idea to wash their clothing in the water with the soap and make use of the elf-sized towels and their pins to wrap around themselves while their clothes dried, draped on the lengthy towel rod. 

Gimli’s parents had fallen asleep almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow, still in their towel togas, but Gimli was too riled and nervous in this place to rest easy. How could Adad sleep now that he was back here? The stories Gimli’s uncles and cousins had told him of dark cells, of condescending dirty looks from the strange and towering elves, of keeping to the shadows with only the prayer of going unnoticed, were all returning to his memory with a fresh terror. 

He needed motion; something to do would settle him, someplace to go. But how could he leave this room? The Elf prince had said they would be free to wander wherever they chose in these halls, but how far had he meant? And what trickery would they use against him should he wander farther than the hidden limit? 

He looked to their pile of weapons, and took heart. Adad and the Company had their weapons confiscated when they were prisoners; If they were truly as welcome as the blond elf had claimed, what would the danger be in carrying about one titchy weapon? For security’s sake, if nothing else.

Impatiently, he checked his clothes. His underthings had finished drying quickly, and his trousers and weskit were only mildly damp at this point, but not much else was past the point of dripping. It was warm enough in this place, he had no need to fear chill. He debated whether or not to bother with socks as he strapped a small dagger around his waist, then decided against it; should there be elves who were not aware that dwarrow were not free game walking about, he would need to be as sneaky as Master Baggins had been in his bare feet.

Armed with naught but a dagger and impatience for motion, he gingerly propped open the door and tiptoed out into the corridor.

It looked empty, completely empty, strangely enough. Behind him was the stairwell at the end of the hall they had come to this hallway from, that would lead back to the row of offices. There was another one in front of him, and he could not tell where that would go. Intrigued, he made up his mind, adjusted the dagger on his hip, and…

…he did not get two steps before a heavy hand clapped his shoulder. Gimli whirled on his assailant, reaching for his dagger, but found the end of an oak walking stick hovering just inches away from his throat. 

“Uncle Oin!” he laughed, relieved. “I thought you were an elf.”

“I can hear your parents snoring through the wall,” Oin remarked, leaning again on his stick. “I thought for sure you’d be out, too.”

Gimli shrugged. “I’m still too jittery. Can’t relax enough for that. Thought I’d explore.”

Oin’s eyebrows lifted. “In a place like Mirkwood? In a hall teeming with elves, where you might run into old Thrandy, who hasn’t the foggiest that we’re here, and may not take kindly to surprise guests?”

Gimli puffed his chest out defensively, preparing an argument, but deflated with surprise when his uncle beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s just what I had planned to do myself for this evening! Great minds think alike, eh? Come on, lad, let’s see if we can’t find the infirmary, elf medicine is a remarkable thing to behold, did I ever tell you of the time your cousin got himself stuck by an orc arrow, and we were in Lake Town? Well, I’ll tell it again…”

 

“Coming!” Ori called to the door from where he sat upon the tub’s edge in the bathroom, still clothed save for his boots and socks. Wincing, he carefully pulled his aching leg up from the warm water, rolling the trouser leg over it again, then pulling himself upwards with his walking stick, leaning upon it as he hobbled to answer the door. 

It was Fili behind the door, looking more like himself without his heavy coat and furs. He was smiling in greeting, but there was a tense line to his shoulders that told Ori just what kind of visit this was. 

Squaring himself, he willed himself to stand taller in spite of the stabbing hurt in his leg and put on a genially irritated countenance, the sort that made it easier for Fili to talk business. “If I knew it was you,” he huffed, “I wouldn’t have put in the effort to be polite. Are you coming in?”

He stood aside to let Fili in, and closed the door when his friend crossed the threshold. “What is it?”

“Why do you assume something’s wrong?” Fili asked, his light tone a touch forced. 

“Oh, I haven’t the foggiest,” Ori drawled sarcastically. “How strange of me to assume that something could go amiss while we’re hiding in our ancestral enemies’ home from assassins. My paranoia must be off the charts.”

“I can’t say ‘hello’, anymore?” Fili countered with a hollow laugh. 

“Fili,” said Ori earnestly, leaning on his stick as he made his way over to his friend, “you’re doing the shoulder thing. Something’s up.”

For a split second, Fili looked ready to argue, but as soon as Ori began to hobble in his direction, his face clouded with concern. “Ori, I’ll ask about this ‘shoulder thing’ as soon as you explain your ‘leg thing.’” 

Ori blinked, then shook his head. “Oh no. You’re not changing the subject. Fili, this is clearly something important—“

“For fuck’s sake, Oin walks speedier than you’re walking now.”

“Fili, don’t you dare act like this is something surprising to you, the leg’s been this way every winter for the last thirty-eight years--“

“You didn’t walk like you were the mountain’s granny those last thirty-eight winters!”

“The last thirty-eight winters, I didn’t get quite as much exercise as I’ve been getting these last few days!”

“Is it just stiffness, or is it hurting?”

“Fili, stop trying to change the subject, tell—“

“Stiffness, or hurting? I won’t let up until you say.”

“You absolute—fine, it hurts, but I’ve been taking care of it, now tell me—“

“Did I interrupt you from seeing to it?”

“Fili—“

“Did I?”

“I was just soaking it the warm water, it felt nice, it will stay warm for a while yet, but not if we keep arguing like this, so if we can get this settled quickly, I’ll get back to it, and—oh no you don’t, I’ll draw, I—oh—Fili, you will put me down right this minute or so help me—“

The King did not release his hold on the scribe’s waist as he lifted him off his feet, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist and the other lifting under his rear, and carried him back to the bathroom, setting Ori back down on the edge of the bathtub, turning a deaf ear to Ori’s complaints and grousing (for the record, that squeak was completely indignant, not a giggle in the least) the entire way.

“Here, we’re where I was before, wonderful, now knock it off,” Ori barked, trying to knock Fili’s hands away (and conceal any further sounds that could ever be mistook for giggles) as the King fussed with rolling up Ori’s trouser hem. There was no smile on his face as he worked, only a familiar determination and concerned knit in his brow to match the tense line of his shoulders.

He finally ceased when Ori grabbed his hands. “For fuck’s sake, Ori!” he cried, a stressed burst. “Just this once, this once, let me take care of you, I know you hate it, but if I don’t, then what kind of—“

“Fili,” Ori gently interrupted, smiling helplessly. “It’s the other leg.”

Fili stared at him incredulously for a moment before deflating and huffing out, “of course it is.” Ori let himself laugh this time and allowed Fili to gingerly roll up the other trouser leg, revealing the long white scar running along his calf like a swan wing before helping him lower it again into the warm water. 

Once Fili had settled comfortably next to Ori, crossing his legs under him, Ori poked him hard in the shoulder. “What’s got you so worried?”

Stormclouds settled over the young King before he brushed them off and gave Ori a smiling, sidelong glance. “I think we had a deal earlier, didn’t we? What did you mean about the ‘shoulder thing’?”

Ori sighed; he knew a losing battle when he saw it. “This thing you do when you’re stressed or frightened with your shoulders; you hold them funny so you look bigger,” he explained, trying to demonstrate, making Fili laugh.

“I don’t look that vulture-like, I’m sure,” the King insisted.

Ori shook his head. “No, more like a chicken. Now you know about the ‘shoulder thing’ that’s had you so fascinated, now talk.”

Fili put on a cross face at the chicken comment, but relented. With a calming exhale, he began his explanation: “I spoke with Legolas, and he says he wouldn’t object to our staying here the entire winter. His father may be a different story.”

Ori frowned in confusion. “What about Thranduil? How is he a ‘may be’?”

“He’s shut himself away, apparently, on some project that Legolas disapproves of completely,” said Fili with a grin. “Legolas’ word is as good as law while Thranduil’s out.”

Ori sputtered on a laugh. “Any idea what this scandalous project may be? A varnish for moose hooves?”

Fili giggled in return. “Yes, and the scandal is that it’s a ghastly shade of yellow that does nothing to flatter the creature’s eyes.”

As the pair snorted with laughter, Ori watched the tension melt from Fili’s shoulders and the decades from his face. 

Reluctantly, once they had calmed down, Ori brought them back to business. “So, what did you decide to do about Thranduil?”

Fili sobered a little, but had to exhale slowly a few times to get the lingering laughter out of his system. “Yes. Well. Legolas is going to pull his father away from this project sometime tomorrow, and we’ll see if we can’t convince him to at least keep a few of us here while I lead the others out to the Shire. I can’t stay in the same place for very long, too dangerous, I know that much, but the defenses here are strong enough I can rest easy knowing the others are in good hands.”

Ori nodded, encouragingly. “A fine plan.”

As Fili continued, his shoulders gradually morphed back into the tense line they’d been when Ori had opened the door. “I’ll talk with them, of course, but I think Oin and Balin might be best off staying behind, and the children, of course, and…” his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat, looking away from Ori.

Realization dawned on Ori, disappointment blooming like a wound in his chest. 

“Oh,” he muttered, looking down at the bathwater where his leg soaked like a pale, drowned thing. He didn’t know the reason for this hurt in his heart, it was what he had wanted all along; he had insisted he was no warrior, had made such a fuss about not being involved in such an expedition. He knew his abilities better now than he had all those years ago, and he knew full well how they had decreased. Besides, Fili was clearly quite distraught about this decision, the right decision. No need for Ori to make it worse.

“Wisely done,” he assured Fili, his gaze still stuck to his leg. 

“Ori, I’m so sorry,” said the King, his voice very small.

Ori shook his head, still not looking at him. “No, no, it really was. There’s no need to be stupid about this, you need speed, and—“

“Ori, I do want you with me, truly I do, but more than that—“

“—yes, yes, a King needs to make difficult decisions,” Ori forced himself to chuckle. “It’s fine. I promise.”

There was silence from Fili for a while, the air strangely heavy between them. When the young King spoke again, there was a strange emptiness in his voice. “D’you know Thorin said something like that to me once? I didn’t quite understand at the time what he wanted me to do with that, still not sure I do, not completely. I don’t think he was quite aware at the time, either.”

Ori felt a gentle tug at his beard, and he turned his head obligingly. There was no guile in Fili’s face, no grand passion, no pretenses; but Ori could make out the stress lines on his brow, growing deeper each day, could see the beginnings to premature laugh lines by his eyes, a problem he shared with his brother. He could see how the dark circles beneath his uncovered eye clashed with the bright blue-green in his iris. The cold wind and bright snow had burned his cheeks and nose a rosy red and matted his beard and moustache, and Ori knew he would spend the next hour or so after this tending to it. He would inwardly grouse at the hair oil the elves had, probably mutter a few dark oaths (his favourite these days was ‘by Jim’s teeth’), and would not let himself sleep until he had spoken with his mother about his audience with Legolas. 

There was Fili, and no matter what he was, Ori would throw down his walking stick and run for him if he had to.

“I want you with me, but more than that, I need you safe,” Fili said at last, simply.

The Scribe put on a smile, and said, “of course you do. Or Dori will crush your windpipe and Nori will hide your body where not even Dwalin can find it.”

The King did not relax entirely, but he managed an amused little smirk. “Truthfully, I’m more worried about what you’d do.”

Ori snorted. “Damn right you are.”

“I’m sure as soon as you finally catch up to me, I won’t have a chance.”

Ori closed his eyes as if begging for strength as he gently pushed Fili’s shoulder reprimandingly. 

He heard Fili squeak out a “Jim’s teeth” before he heard a mighty splash and felt a wave of warm water hit him.

When he opened his eyes, Fili was sitting in the tub pitifully, his hair soaked and completely concealing his face. 

“Yes, yes, it’s all very amusing,” Fili griped as Ori cackled. “Now help me out.”

“Oh, I must remember this,” Ori managed. “You look like a drenched cat.”

“Shut up and give me a hand.”

“Is this really why they call you the Golden Lion?”

“Shut up, just shut up, I’ll pull you in with me, I swear…”

 

There had been two elves in the infirmary when they had gone in. Oin had been in the middle of his story when they had entered, and the elves, who had not heard of the incident, begged to hear him tell it from the beginning for them. Gimli had, indeed, heard the story, but it made Oin’s eyes light up to recall it, and it put them in the two elf doctors good books. 

Afterwards, Oin had chatted with them about different remedies and strange accidents they had seen come in (Gimli’s favourite had been of the elf prince, Legolas, who had never, until sixty years ago, had a nosebleed, and had stumbled into their office with much melodrama after being told by the Captain of the Guards that he was probably suffering from a burst sinus). Then, Oin had sweetly asked if perhaps they could loan him some more supplies? He’d repay them once they had gotten themselves home. 

They had been very sweet, and given him not only bandages and rubbing alcohol, but also, at Oin’s request, some charcoal, sulfur, saltpetre, yarrow, and other herbs, as well as a gift of two tins of salve.

As soon as they had left the infirmary and were out of earshot, Oin cackled to himself and whispered to Gimli, “this way to the cellars, if memory serves, my lad.”

The cellar had barrels big enough to fit at least three dwarves, and the air was heavy with the sweet smell of fermented apples, but it was not the cider or wine that had Oin so giddy. Instead, it was the rolls of brown packaging paper in the corner. 

“Gimli my lad,” said Oin, “you know very well what our friend Mister Baggins hates, but do you know what he adores? Fireworks. Now, we can’t go and make him one here, we’d need a lot more gunpowder, but you know what we can make with these? Crackers. Now,” he dug about in his bag, “we’ll make up our gunpowder, first…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all you folks out there who've left kudos and comments! Whoever can guess what song it is Thranduil is bastardizing gets a terrible holiday joke. Happy Hannukah to those who celebrate, chag urim sameach.

Dis wa strongly tempted to just go to dinner with only a simple braid trailing down her back, too tired for anything else. All it took was one look at her traveling clothes and the beads in her hair, the sole piece of finery she had taken with her, for her to sigh in resignation and begin to twist several braids at her crown to gather at the back of her head. She would not go to the Elves’ table without some reminder to her station. 

There was a knock at her door just as she finishes. It was the elf guard that had guided them to these rooms, come now to alert her that supper would be served in another half hour. She thanked the messenger, and the elf bobbed a short bow and turned to knock on the door across the way. Before she could shut her own door, Dis saw her son answer the elf’s knock, and made out from the state of his hair and unbuttoned shirt that he had probably been having a bath. 

Good lad, she thought. He always did care more for appearances than his brother. 

She was about to close the door completely, when she heard her son thank the elf, then call behind him as he closed his own door, “Ori, did you hear that? We’ve got half an hour.” 

 

“Good Elf King Thranduil looked out at the cold of rhîw,/ drinking wine that could be made even finer he knew!”

Legolas was nearly taken out at the knees at the powerful, aromatic wave the minute he opened his father’s door-- cloves, cinnamon, mace, citrus, and many more with the stench of boiling wine hit his nose hard enough to make it bleed.

“Brightly shone the stars that night but Thranduil resisted,” he heard his father continue to sing with all the giddy mirth a drunk elf could muster. “He would find his victory, that much he insi-i-sted!”

“You called, Father?” he asked, trying his damndest to not breathe through his nose.

“Yes, that I did,” said the King, voice warm and words sliding out of his mouth like molten butter. Around his feet were scattered goblets, towels soaking up great red-violet puddles, broken shards of glass beakers, and an abandoned silk robe. “My lad,” he proclaimed, arms held out with a beaker of a black substance in one hand and a goblet in the other, crown askew on his brow and his face ruddy and merry, stains all over his untucked and unbuttoned shirt, “I have won my victory over this wine, as I said I would.”

Giggling again, he grabbed Legolas’ shoulders, enthusiastically kissed both of his cheeks, then linked arms with him and turned them in a stumbling circle, singing again: “Legolas my princely son, stand guard as I’m working! Said the prince, 'oh father mine, your work you are shirking!' Ah, my son, my work is here, listen and forsooth! I will put arms to the wine, battling for truth!”

Legolas nearly dislocated his elbow pulling out of his father’s grasp. “Yes, I’m very proud of you,” he said. “Now, father, there is some very pressing business we must see to as soon as—“

“Shushshushshush, we’re getting to the exciting bit: 'Bring me citrus, bring me spice, my beaker rims have moistened! King Thranduil would realize the vintage had been poisoned—'“

“’Poisoned?!’” Legolas squawked, jolting back. “Father, the wine was poisoned?!”

“'—for it was a shoddy wine, not made bad by boiling—'“

“Father,” Legolas panicked, “where was that wine from? Who would even want to poison you, besides your family and friends? Who—oh, no,” he gasped, remembering the dwarves1. 

“Legs-my-lad,” his father slurred kindly, “whoever it was must have been pe-channas. They clearly never heard tales of my iron liver,” the King chortled, holding his goblet in a mock-toast. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it, all it took was this little drop of this,” he flourished the beaker with a crow, “and hey presto, here you are!” 

Legolas took the goblet his father waved under his nose, and sure enough, there was a black film around the goblet’s interior. It was true, his father was so fond of his wine, his liver may as well have been strong as steel. Even to an elf as young as he or Tauriel, the worst a strong poison could do was take them out of commission for a few hours, maybe a day. But to their mortal guests…

“Father,” he said urgently, “this is a matter of the utmost importance, so listen. Do you recall the Fiery Hammers of Erebor?”

Thranduil shuddered. “Who doesn’t recall? Arsons, completely disgraceful.”

“Well, father, at least some have returned, and the Line of Durin is fleeing them after one of them attempted to poison their King.”

Thranduil, gathering up his robe, gave his son a quizzical look. “What’s that got to do with us? Their business is with Durin's Line, not us.”

“I don’t know, father, but it doesn’t sit well with me. When did this casket of wine come to us?”

Thranduil pursed his lips in thought, then made a raspberry and shrugged. 

Legolas paced across the floor, muttering to himself. “Right. Right. It may have been that way, it may have come when the problem first began years ago, there’s been no smell of them since the first rise of the Hammers was taken down, we may be safe. Good. Good. We may have been ingesting this poison for years now, but it’s never done a thing to us, but the dwarves…”

“Whazzat?” Thranduil asked, an edge to his voice.

Legolas inhaled slowly, then faced his father. “The King Under the Mountain, his family, and his friends have come here. I have given them protection in our halls for as long as they need it. King Fili and I agreed—“

“For fuck’s sake,” Thranduil groaned. “They were bad enough as prisoners, how’ll they be as guests?”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “As I was saying. King Fili and I agreed that he would lead the more able-bodied members of his Company out just as soon as possible, and their elders and children and scribe would stay here, but--“

“Not the bloody scribe, he wouldn’t stop with the graffiti all over the walls, do you remember how long it took to clean that up?”

“—but these new circumstances would hinder that decision,” Legolas barreled on. “Who knows what else is poisoned here? Who knows how long it’s been poisoned, or how many more times it could happen? The Line of Durin may not all be our friends, but they are our allies, and we cannot let them be in danger. It may very well cost us our own safety.”

“So?” Thranduil shrugged. “We get them all out of here. The sooner the better,” he added, almost gleefully.

“But how?” Legolas muttered thoughtfully. “There’s so many of them, and if there’s anyone on their tail, they’ll need speed, but for a journey to the Shire they’ll need supplies, and—“

“I think you know exactly what they’ll need,” said Thranduil with a devious smile. 

 

“What are they called again?” Gimli asked, staring upwards at the horned, snuffling beast above his head.

“They’re reindeer,” said the elf prince, skritching under the creature’s chin. “They’re perfect for cold weather like this, very hardy and can eat the lichen on the stones when you’re going over the Misty Mountains. A team of eight will be able to carry you on the sled, I think. There’s a sack of carrots and oats and other food for them in the back with the rest of your supplies.”

“But what are they called?” Bodhir insisted, putting her hands bossily on her hips. “How’re they going to know what we want from them if we don’t know their names?”

Legolas shrugged. “We didn’t name them. You can call them what you like.”

Bodhir looked appalled. “Didn’t name them?”

“Well…” Legolas faltered. “I suppose this one is Nor.”

She nodded, appeased. “And that one?” she demanded, pointing at the next one on the team. 

Underneath his cool façade, there was a look of amused bewilderment on the elf’s face. “Lilta.”

“And this one?”

Gimli almost laughed at the elf’s helplessness as he continued to produce names to please his young cousin. 

The sled was painted white, the better to hide in the snow, and piled in the back were sacks of supplies, all covered with a white tarp. The reindeer were wearing harnesses with bells on them, which Gimli thought was a little too much, but supposed would be handy in the event the creatures got loose. It was a generous gift, everybody said so, but everybody was in a foul mood since they had been alerted of the danger they could be in before they could even touch dinner. It was hard to be grateful when a warm meal had been snatched away from under your nose. 

“Your Highness,” said Cousin Fili as they all started clambering on, “Erebor owes you a debt.”

“You can get out of here, and leave me with a father in a good temper,” the elf joked, clapping Cousin Fili on the shoulder before helping him up. 

There was an image Gimli could relate to. There was something about the idea of the elusive Elven King Thranduil grousing and grumbling like Gimli’s own father until the unwanted company went away that inspired him to lean over his parents and dig out the first brown-paper cracker he had rolled for practice with Uncle Oin from his pocket.

“But really, Legolas,” Cousin Fili laboured, “we can’t just leave in good conscience without leaving something for you in return, or have an idea of what to send you—“

“For you,” Gimli said quickly, leaning over his Cousin and holding out the cracker to the elf, “in thanks for all your hospitality. It’s a small token, but—“

The elf’s eyes widened marginally before he smiled and accepted the gift. “If this is what I think it is, I shall save it for the best of occasions.” There was a mischievous glint in his eye as he tucked it into his own pocket, a glint that assured Gimli he had chosen the right elf to give his creation to.

Then the elf stepped aside, Gimli was yanked back to his seat, and before his parents could scold him, Dwalin snapped the reins and they were off into the snowy night.

 

There was still a powerful scent of alcohol in the air when Legolas went back to his father to report their guests’ departure. 

“Excellent,” the King said as he adjusted his crown, slowly sobering. “I always hated that sled. Don't tell your mother that. May they have better use of it. Son, what is that in your pocket?”

Legolas pulled out the cracker. “Oh. It was a gift, from one of the younglings. It’s a cracker, he made it himself, I think. It’s clumsily made enough.”

Thranduil’s eyebrows arched interestedly. “Really? A cracker? I’ve not seen one of these in an age, I think. The last time I saw one was when Lady Galadriel hosted that marvelous New Age party, so… yes. Yes, it’s been an Age since I last saw one. There was a little paper crown inside of mine, it was perfectly charming.”

Legolas peered at the little brown-wrapped thing in his hands, and pondered out loud, “what do you suppose they put inside this one?”

Thranduil grinned. “Let’s find out.”

Legolas handed it to his father. “You do the honours, you found the poison.”

“Ah, thank you,” said Thranduil, taking a hold of both ends of the cracker. “Three, two…”

Ker-BANG!

Legolas had to close his eyes against the sudden bright light, and kept them closed until the ringing in his ears had ceased. When he opened them, his father’s fair hair was dusted with a fine, black powder along with his face, and his eyebrows were singed off.

“Son,” he said slowly, “which dwarf was it, again?”

“Well… once of the younglings, I didn’t get the name, I…”

“You remember what he looked like?”

“Yes?”

“Good,” said the King with an icy smile. “Find him.”

 

“All rise!” 

The few guards in the deepest dungeons of Erebor swiftly stood to attention as the dumbwaiter doors opened to reveal the Acting-Captain and Acting-Lieutenant standing on either side of the Acting-Queen, Lady Otti. Her Ladyship, draped in coral robes and fingers glittering with silver rings set with peachy moonstones, appeared to glow in the weak torchlight of the bleak tunnel like the belly of a dragon. She strode in with all the pride due to a dwarrowdam of her years and rank, and the sea of guards parted before her as if waves. Behind her, the Acting-Captain and Lieutenant rolled a tea trolley with a coffee pot and two mugs, both of good grey stoneware. 

She had sent a message to Mistress Knod, the gaoler, that she would arrive that day to speak with the prisoners captured the night of the poisoning attempt, a subject that the entirety of the Guard had been sworn to silence on. There was a chair prepared for her before the cell of the ringleader, one Master Reifr, and she wasted no time in striding over to it. Once she had seated herself, the trolley was rolled up next to her and she calmly began to pour the coffeepot’s contents into the two mugs, mindless of the gathered audience of guards.

“I don’t like having interviews blind,” Lady Otti said conversationally. “Come closer.”

She paused, waiting for a response, and when she did not get one, she shrugged and went back to stirring her mug. “Very well. I can be patient, especially when I know I’m getting my way in the end.”

“What makes you think you’re getting it?” asked a gruff voice from within the cell.

“Because no one else is going to be offering you warm beverages while you’re here,” she replied without missing a beat. 

There was a sullen pause, and then the prisoner dragged a chair to the bars and sat down. He was a young fellow, his beard not even covering his neck, but with a fine moustache, as was becoming the fashion amongst the younger dwarrow. He took the mug from the Lady without so much as a nod of thanks, and took a loud swallow of it. His stony façade wilted away with wonder after that first taste, and he stared at his mug wonderingly. 

“You like it,” the Lady observed with a smile. “I can hardly blame you. That’s cacao. It’s one of the liberties I’ve taken with my new position, quite wretched of me, I know. It’s a delicacy, only the royal family has possession of it. The King had several bars in the kitchens, a courting gift from some Haradrim noble. He declined, of course, but kept the bars. I figured, what harm could there be in using up just one?”

“It’s wonderful,” Reifr agreed, “but that still won’t make me talk.”

“Won’t it?” She leant forward, predatorily, all pretenses of friendly conversation gone. “I rather think it will. 

“Do you know what made that gift so rare? So precious? Cacoa, my dear young badger, has the marvelous gift of being able to take away any inhibitions from the drinker. They are compelled to speak, and speak truthfully.”

Reifr’s eyes went wide with fear. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

She closed her eyes patiently, sighed, and took a drink from the mug next to her. “Ask me anything,” she ordered afterwards.

He pursed his lips, then grinned wickedly. “When was the last time you had a tumble?”

She swallowed, gaze unwavering. “Last week. With my maid.”

Reifr smirked, victorious, but not for long, as the Lady shot out questions like arrows from a crossbow. “Are these your fellow prisoners all of the Fiery Hammers within Erebor?” 

“Yes,” he replied, shocked at how his voice betrayed him in responding so quickly.

“Are there agents outside the mountain?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know, they all left when we were young. They were our mentors, teachers, and now they’ve all gone. There’s nobody left except us, the new generation, in Erebor, and we’re all here, but you mark my words, the people will hear of this, and they’ll rise—“

“As far as the people are concerned,” she interrupted coldly, “you lot never existed to begin with. Now tell me where this first generation went.”

“I don’t know. Somewhere between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains, I think were the rumours; a secret place, a holy place, where—“

“Between Durin’s Bane and the Deep Blue Sea,” she muttered thoughtfully before standing up abruptly. “Wonderful. Thank you kindly.”

Reifr felt sick; he’d never known a drug so potent before. He had spoken with a clear mind, and had felt no guilt with the words, and now… only now was he feeling sick. How long would this last? What if somebody asked him another question? Would he be compelled to answer them so quickly? 

He did not get longer to ponder as the dumbwaiter door swung open, revealing a dwarf in a valet’s uniform.

“Milady, the council is gathered,” he called.

“Ah, Auka,” she greeted. “How good of you to come. Pity you didn’t bring the maid to help bring up the tea things.”

The valet’s brow knitted in confusion. “Milady, what maid? Did you hire without my knowledge?”

She turned and raised her eyebrows significantly at Reifr. “Oh. Must have slipped my mind.”

As Lady Otti shook Mistress Knod’s hand, the valet pulled the tea trolley into the dumbwaiter and Reifr collapsed back into his chair.


	6. Chapter 6

“Legolas?”

Tauriel knocked again on the prince’s office door, and called his name again, louder. When there was no response, she jiggled the doorknob, meaning to be threatening. Instead, the door fell open.

“If this is you trying to frighten me,” she growled, stepping inside the office, “I’m going to remind everyone of the time you were convinced you were being haunted by a stuffed barracuda, and—“

There was a crinkle beneath her feet. She looked down, gingerly moved her foot, then bent to pick up the envelope. Her name was on it, and a small tear near the top, as if it had fallen off a tack. Sure enough, a tack was stuck to the side of the door facing the room’s interior. With a sigh and a wary look about the room, she tore the envelope open, then read:

Tauriel:

Father being unreasonable. Off to pull a you. Please mind father while I’m gone. 

Legs

Slowly, she set the envelope down. There was a half-emptied mug of coffee on the desk, and she calmly drank it down. 

“I need to kill something,” she said to nobody in particular.

Just like that, the alarum went off again. She closed her eyes, inhaled slowly, exhaled, then opened them again and smiled. Through these trying times, she told herself as she tightened her belt and made her way out the door, it was the little blessings that got you through.

 

They set up camp, still in the shelter of Mirkwood, where the snow did not fall through the thick canopy of leaves and branches above. With the elves’ efforts, the spiders’ numbers were greatly diminished, making it safer to sleep, but still a bold enough act to necessitate building a fire and establishing a watch order. 

Fili’s turn had come up. He’d been having a truly bizarre dream about having to wade through a river against the current in his good shoes, and Ori had just jumped in to wade beside him, when Bombur had shook him gently awake for his turn.

“Gloin’s asleep,” he yawned. “You’re up.”

Fili had been about to ask just what Bombur had been doing up if it had been Gloin’s turn, but the instant he got himself sitting up, Bombur had rolled over, asleep. His wife, Seydhir, sat up with her back against a tree, cradling both the twins, Breyta and Breyti, under her coat, blinking sleep from her pretty hazel eyes. 

“Milady? Why aren’t you asleep? Are the badgers all right?”

“Oh, yes, they’re sound asleep; it’s just that Bomby—er, my husband and I are restless sleepers, the pair of us, and we’re so frightened we’ll just roll over and squish them. So, we’re taking hour-long shifts sitting up with them. Keeping them tucked up under the coat is the most efficient way to give them warmth under the circumstances.”

Fili nodded, understanding. “I see. But you look exhausted, why not pass them to me and sleep, at least until my shift is over?”

She was tickled at the offer, and after the usual polite demurring, she helped Fili tuck the bairns under his coat, showed him how to support them with his arms cradling under their backs, then yawned out an order to wake her if they started fussing before rolling off to snore beside her husband.

It was the oddest sensation, having the two bundled, softly snoring creatures so close to him. Ori had spoken of creatures that carried their young in pockets in their skin, and Fili had often marveled at the idea, wondering how it would feel. So far, it felt lovely, like two sunspots of warmth nestled close to his heart. 

The cynic in him doubted it would feel so lovely if they needed their nappies changed during his watch. 

There was a snort and a rustling of dead leaves behind him, and he turned his head sharply, only to see Ori sitting upright on his mat, rubbing his eyes with one hand and fumbling for his spectacles with the other. Once they were on, he looked in Fili’s direction, and looked pointedly at his coat with a question in his eyes. Fili grinned and nodded him over.

“What have you got there?” Ori whispered as he knelt beside Fili, setting his walking stick on the ground next to him.

“I’m one of those pocket-creatures,” Fili whispered in response as Ori peered into the coat, giggling as Ori’s eyes widened in surprise. “Bombur and Seydhir were taking shifts, sitting up with them. They needed to sleep, so I got badger duty.”

Ori, still recovering from the surprise and studying the sleeping bairns, absently whispered, “they’re called marsupials, not pocket-creatures. They’re not too heavy, are they?”

Fili shook his head. “No, not at all. They feel lovely.” In a burst of inspiration, he grinned. “We never got to that lesson, from before. You remember how to hold bairns?”

Ori held up his hands defensively. “Oh no. No, we are not playing this game again, not going down this route, nope…”

“Mahal in his halls,” Fili quietly laughed. “Unless your arms are actually made of hot iron, you won’t hurt them. They’re dwarves, for crying out loud; it takes a lot to break us.”

Ori still shook his head. “Absolutely not; I don’t trust me, your mother doesn’t trust me, I think it’s a good indicator—“

“Wait,” Fili cut him off, frowning. “What do you mean my mother doesn’t trust you?”

Before Ori could respond, there was a rustle in the trees and bushes that had the reindeer standing up and pawing at the ground.

Fili turned his head and called, “something’s coming, everybody up!” as he scurried back to Bombur and Seydhir. Ori wasted no time in bringing himself up again and drawing out his sword, assuming a fighting stance and ignoring the protesting ache in his leg. Soon, his brothers were behind him, wielding their respective weapons.

“Whatever it is,” he heard Nori whisper into his ear, “let me deliver the killing blow. I haven’t had a wink of good sleep since this whole business began, and this was the closest I got to it.”

“And people think I’m the scary one,” Dwalin muttered to himself.

As the noise grew nearer and nearer, the company huddled closer and closer together, and the strain in Ori’s leg grew more and more difficult to bear, and the branches were parting, and he could not see Fili…

…and there was prince Legolas, riding astride a female elk, hands held aloft in a peaceful gesture. 

“I’ve kept you from sleep again, and I apologize,” said the elf, looking meaningfully at Nori, who bristled and growled. He continued, undeterred. “It’s just that my father’s thrown a bit of a tantrum, and he…”

He trailed off, raising an eyebrow in King Fili’s direction. The King was holding his bulging coat closed and was poking his head out from where he, as well as Bodhir and Seybur, were being blocked by Bombur and Seydhir. 

“…he’s demanding someone’s head,” he concluded, still gazing curiously at Fili’s coat. “There was a bit of an incident with the cracker, and he reacted badly.”

“You must be joking!” Mizim cried. “You can’t mean to kill my son over such a trivial matter!”

“Of course he’s joking,” Gloin growled. “Because if he wasn’t, I’d punch that pretty nose of his to the back of his head!”

Gimli, pale with fear, dropped his weapon and shakily stepped towards the elf. “I swear I meant no harm, but if it’ll give any protection to my family and my King, then…”

“Oh not this again,” Legolas groaned, cutting him off. “No, no, nobody is dying tonight or tomorrow or anytime for my father’s tantrum. In fact, I don’t plan to indulge him in the least.”

The Company held a collective breath until Fili called, “put down your arms.” As they obeyed, Legolas continued: “You see, you’re about five miles from our border, and from then out, there’s a nice little shortcut to a pass through the Misty Mountains. But it might help to have an elf guide.”

This time, it was Dis who went to the front of the Company to fix her icy glare up at the elf. “Terribly convenient information, that is. It would be marvelous if we had a good reason to trust you.”

Clearly, the elf had anticipated this response. “Well, your Highness, if there are any questionable characters, they won’t stop a sledge with Thranduil’s royal insignia upon it, driven by an armed guard. This armed guard is, quite frankly, very reluctant to return home, and quite eager to regain our allies’ good graces after my father’s embarrassing behaviour and demands. What’s more, I can drive throughout the night whilst you and your Company sleep.”

Before Dis could reply, Nori barked out, “I’m all for it.”

Dis shot him a dirty look, before looking to her son. The King stood, shoulders back, dignified in spite of his bulging coat, and declared, “as am I.”

Breyta and Breyti, woken by the fuss, poked their heads out of his coat, prompting Fili to addd, “so are they, I think.”

Ori steeled himself, looked the Princess in her hard green gaze, and said calm as he could, “I must agree with my brother and your son.”

One by one, the rest of the company fell into favour of the elf’s proposal, and the Princess kept stony through it all. 

Finally, she turned to the elf. “Well. I suppose that all that’s left for me to do is call front seat.”

 

The candlelight, with the many shadows it cast, made the subterranean chamber appear somehow darker, obscuring the faces of the gathered assembly. 

“We are free dwarrow,” intoned the orange-hooded dwarf at the head of the small crowd. “It was the fire that freed us, and it will be the fire that frees the world. It was the fire that shone from Lasta.”

“Ever-glowing Lasta,” the crowd spoke as one.

The one dwarf spoke again. “The fire that shone from ever-glowing Lasta will shine through this world. It will be the fire that burns away the corrupted Lines of the world. This world will be purged of all kings, and from the ashes will grow a mightier earth.”

“A mighty earth,” the crowd chanted. “A dragon earth.”

 

The wind was biting into Dis’ face and eyes, forcing her to close them, yet she did not sleep. She would not sleep until she was certain it was safe to do so. Her son may be at ease enough to close his own eyes to the danger presented by this elf, by this journey, by that scribe, but she had been the sensible one out of her siblings, and until there came somebody with more or as much common sense as her, she would continue to carry the mantle of reasonable precaution.

“Your Highness, it is well-past midnight,” the elf pointed out. “You must be exhausted. You are safe if you sleep.”

“Am I,” she said flatly.

She heard him huff a sigh. “Yes. Yes, you are. And so are the others. And so is your son with that Ori fellow.”

She willed back a flinch. “That is quite the presumption to make.”

“No presumption,” he said simply, no malice. “I’ve got a father who likes to give little speeches to anybody he suspects me to be so much as interested in. I’ve seen centuries upon centuries of dirty looks, I know them when I see them.”

She was quiet, formulating a measured response. “He recommended the fellow that tried to murder my son to him. Do not think to patronize me for concern I show my children.”

There was still an irritating lack of condescension in the elf’s tone. “I have also seen centuries of dangerous fellows. Your Ori is not something to fear. He’s gotten a surprisingly large amount more dangerous than most become in such a short amount of time, but most certainly not something you need to be afraid of.”

He spoke more, but the words became soft and jumbled in Dis’ sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

“Roaring Fires to purge the earth,  
Sweep it clear of the Durin Kings."

 

It was the same as before: a countdown, a burst from the ground, a pointed arrow, and an easy smile from one and a drawn sword from the other, and Tauriel would lower her bow and order the others to do the same. 

“Hullo, Captain,” Kili grinned up at her, teeth white and brilliant against he black of his beard. His companion, a dark-skinned young dwarrowdam in a Guard’s uniform, hesitantly lowered her mace at his nod, her jaw tight with suppressed fear.

Tauriel smiled herself. “Hullo, Captain. You found your way here quicker than usual.”

He shrugged modestly, then stepped aside to present his companion. “May I introduce my Lieutenant, Hrollr, daughter of Nogr and Hrelling. Lieutenant, Captain Tauriel. I wouldn’t have half the managing skills I possess if not for her help and guidance.”

The young dwarrowdam looked properly flabbergasted, but recovered quickly enough to bow to Tauriel. “A friend of my Captain’s must be a friend of Erebor. At your service.”

Tauriel returned the bow. “He was the most distractible of my pupils. If the mountain is still standing with his regime, it must be due to you. Therefore, I am in yours.”

She straightened up and nodded to her guards to fall back. “Your brother was here not too long ago,” she said to Kili. “Is Mirkwood to be the Durin’s Home Away From Home?”

Kili’s easy smile fell away, and a knit of worry appeared between his and Hrollr’s brows. “They were here? When?”

There was a struck silence from Tauriel and her guards at Kili’s words.

Captain Tauriel snapped her fingers at a young elf in a page’s uniform. Wide-eyed, the elf stepped forward, stammering answers to Tauriel’s questions.

“The dwarves, where have they gone now?”

“Th-they departed almost two hours ago. The King gave them use of the sledge and a team of eight reindeer.”

“And what of Prince Legolas?”

“I don’t know where he is now, should I—“

Tauriel cut the elf off. “He’s gone off to follow them. ‘Pulling a Me’ indeed. If they’ve taken the sledge, they’ll be miles away. When did Legolas go after them?”

“Perhaps half an hour ago? What do you mean, ‘Pulling a—‘”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. If he’s been gone for that short a time, then catching up to him will be no great feat. Still, speed is of the essence.

“Kili, Lieutenant Hrollr, I suggest leaving your ponies here in our stables,” said Tauriel. “It’s best if we travel in one party, with one of our steeds. They’re bred for sprinting.”

“You’re right,” Kili nodded. 

“Kili, come with me. You…” Tauriel frowned at the other elf. “I don’t believe I remember hiring you. Who are you?”

“The intern. You interviewed me this last spring—“

“Ah. You’ll show the Lieutenant here how to get to the stables with their ponies. They were left at the Eastern Gate. Kili and I will gather weapons, and meet you there. The rest of you lot, back to work.”

 

"A Glowing Crucible to purify the earth,  
Wash away the wicked with a beat of Dragon’s Wings."

 

Neither Hrollr nor the intern spoke as they untied the ponies. Not for lack of conversation; Hrollr had many questions that she wished to ask. 

For instance: did this Captain Tauriel suffer the same whispers about Captain Kili that he suffered in Erebor? 

However, that was decidedly inappropriate. So she settled for something a little more tame: “Hrollr. At your service.”

The intern blinked, then smiled nervously, said, “Thank you, I’m sure,” then went back to struggling with the knot tethering the pony to the tree.

Well, so much for that.

“Did you see King Fili or his company?”

“No, I can’t say that I did.”

“Ah.”

Hrollr felt completely at a loss, scrambling for something to say to fill the silence. “You know, it must have been the middle of the night, I could have sworn I heard bells in my sleep. Alarum bells. Must have been from here.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Probably from them, I suppose?”

“Must have been.”

They finished untying the ponies in self-conscious silence, until they stilled, both keenly listening on the wind.

Hrollr cleared her throat. “I’m not just hearing that, aren’t I? The…”

“The singing? No, I hear it, too. I just—where is that coming from?”

Hrollr pointed vaguely off to her left, saying, “I can’t say exactly where, but it’s from that way. It’s the damndest thing, almost like… well. It’s from thataway.”

They stood still, listening a moment longer, trying to make sense of the muffled cadences and beat.

“Should I…” the intern gulped. “I should find the Captains.”

Hrollr stiffened, but made herself nod approvingly. “Yeah. I’ll go scout it out, then. Just tell them where I am, they’ll find me easy enough.”

The intern nodded, wide-eyed. “Okay. “

“Okay.”

And with that, the intern was off with the ponies. 

Hrollr watched until the sound of pony hooves had faded away to nothing. She strained her eyes, following the rust-red of the elf’s hair until she was forced to admit that what her eyes perceived was, in fact, the bark of a tree and that the intern had been gone from her line of vision for several minutes.

She waited until she was alone with nothing but the wind in the tall trees and the hints of deep, secret music, reverberating in her bones.

Tightening her jaw, she took her mace in both hands, grip tight enough to hide her trembling, and followed the sound into the trees.

 

"A holy forge to beat the earth,  
Cleansing as it clangs and rings."

 

Once Tauriel had gathered all the weapons she wanted, they went to the stables. The stalls were so tall that Kili could not tell what beasts were housed within. He came to a halt as Tauriel paced down the hall of stalls, glancing over the tops of them, muttering.

“The question, of course, is will one elk alone do the job? Otherwise, perhaps reindeer—no, no, damn it, there’s only one left behind, or—“

“Our supplies are light,” Kili interjected. “We can both fit on one elk, if necessity demands it.”

“It’s a thought,” said Tauriel thoughtfully, still peering into stalls. “It certainly is. There’s a pair of does here—no, no, shit, Legolas took half the pair,” she growled, her hand raising to pick at her lips anxiously. “She can’t carry the pair of you and all the weapons, we’ll either have to leave those behind or set you up with some bucks, but they’re going to have a devil of a time running through the trees—“

Kili took a step forward. “What if I take the weapons I have, and ride the doe alone? If they’re as close as you suppose—“

“No, no, they could be ages away with all this dithering,” Tauriel snapped, her other hand in her hair, tugging at the braids. “Shit, damn it all, you’re not going to go without weapons, you’re not going to endanger yourself like that, and you’re most certainly not going alone, I just need to figure something out, just need to fix this—“

Kili hurried towards her, touched the hem of her coat, looked up at her. “Captain?”

When she cut herself off and looked down at him, he sagged in relief, then playfully gave the fabric an easy tug, saying, “hey, Captain, down here.”

She exhaled slowly, and dropped the hand that was picking at her lips, looking askance sheepishly. Kili took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, putting his focus on the gesture and the way it pulled her skin one way and then the other as she collected her thoughts.

“One buck can easily pull a sledge,” she said at last. “Even a large one. There’s another one, but it’s larger than the one we sent your family off in, and the color simply won’t do in the least, but if it’s just you and your lieutenant and your weapons, that won’t be any trouble for one of the elks.”

“And Thranduil won’t mind it’s gone?” Kili asked, keeping his voice neutral.

She snorted. “Thranduil will be just too happy that all the dwarves are out of his halls.”

“It sounds doable to me, Captain,” said Kili, looking up at her, smiling.

She returned the smile, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad we’re in agreement, Captain.”

They let go at the sound of the ponies entering, turning to greet Hrollr and the intern, but frowned at the sight of the elf guiding the ponies alone.

“Captains, I’m afraid there’s some bad news…”

 

"Bleed their presence from the earth,  
Reward their greed with pricks and stings."

 

Fili woke as the sledge slowed to a stop, and Dwalin, his neighbor, elbowed him in the face as he stretched awake. During the night, they had all gotten rather cozy in the sledge, and Fili felt rather like a fur-wrapped sardine. His mouth tasted bitter, what was exposed of his face was numb from the cold, and all his limbs felt achy and at least a century older than they were. 

Ori’s head was pillowed on Fili’s chest, and Fili found that he had secured both his arms around the scribe’s waist and shoulders, that the pair of them had curled around each other in the mass of bodies around them. He felt a wave of pride, of triumph, and, half-awake, he pressed his smile to the top of Ori’s hood. 

“Ew,” he heard Nori whine next to them. Nervous, his head shot up, but relaxed at the sight of Nori’s brother half-heartedly wrinkling his nose into Dwalin’s kisses. “Your breath is wretched,” Nori said before leaning in to seal his mouth to his husband’s. 

Fili slouched again around Ori, letting his eyes slip shut again and giggling at Bifur’s own cooing and Bofur’s comment, “ah, marriage. Clearly I’m missing out on a great deal.”

He heard Dori chide, “come now, Nori, there are children present.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Bofur. “You and Balin there are giving Fi and Ori a run for their money, there. Leave room for Mahal, you two.”

That woke Fili up. Sheepishly, he lifted his head up from where it was pillowed atop Ori’s, and looked over to see Dori and Balin shyly huffing and blushing and separating themselves from… well, it was certainly more complicated an embrace than the one he himself was currently involved in. Less of an “embrace,” for them, more of an “entanglement,” it looked.

He yawned, put on a casual tone, and said, “well, as long as everybody’s being safe about it.”

There was a chorus of guffaws and laughter around him, and he looked to the front of the sledge where his mother was looking back at everyone. She looked as tired and stiff as everyone else, but there was no steel in her eyes as she gazed at Ori in his arms. No softness, either, but then Ori had said she looked at him with disapproval now. She turned her head away before Fili could look for what Ori meant, and she shifted to stand in the sledge, stretch her back, and talk in quiet tones to the elf.

Fili took the moment of peace to softly nuzzle Ori’s head again, and murmur, “We’re here. Come on.” 

Ori shifted awake slowly, with a soft noise that did something very peculiar indeed to Fili’s stomach. “Good morning,” said the King gently, ignoring the curses and complaints of stiffness around them as the company rose from the sledge, one by one.

“Where are we?” Gimli asked his father. 

“A friend and ally’s house,” said Gloin warmly. “Do you remember the Skin Changer I told you about?”

“Good gravy,” Oin groaned. “Hopefully he’s done something about those goats; they kept looking at me funny.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just their eyes, Oin.”

“Fili?” he heard Ori’s voice say, tiny and hushed.

“Yes, hullo there. Did you hear that? We’re at Beorn’s. Ready to go?”

“Fili.” 

“Yes?”

He tilted his head down, seeking Ori’s face. Ori did not turn his head up to look at him, but Fili could see his eyes were wide as dinner plates, his jaw tight with panic. “Fili, I can’t move my leg.”

 

"A Fiery Hammer to beat the earth,  
Beating to the New Song the earth sings.”

 

Hrollr had left a trail of footprints with her heavy boots that Kili could follow easily, through the pines and dead black branches until she was in sight, silhouetted against the stark backdrop of dead trees, standing alone in a clearing, staring at something on the forest floor.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted her, relieved. She whirled on him, eyes wide, a finger to her lips.

He frowned, his brow puckering in worry. “What is it?” he whispered. 

Still trembling, she mouthed: “Music.”

He strained his ears, picking up some soft, vague rhythm that he could feel more than hear. “Where?” he mouthed in return.

She swallowed before carefully enunciating, “Under. Us.”


	8. Chapter 8

In the months after the Battle that cost Fili his eye and Ori his leg, when Ori was confined to a wheeled chair and withdrawing from the group and people he had so endeared himself to, Fili would scoop him up and out of the chair and carry him like a babe, and bear him hither and yon, twirl about, and just in general clown around while Ori clung to his shoulders and laughed as he scolded half-heartedly.

Then Ori was moved to the cane, and then was able to move without using it, and Fili had lost opportunities to sweep him up and off the ground. Once in a blue moon, when he wanted to prove a point, he might be tempted to take Ori by the hips and hoist him up and set him down back on his feet where he wanted him, as he had done back in Thranduil’s halls only hours ago, but it had been years since he had carried Ori like a damsel.

He hadn’t exactly pictured the first time carrying Ori again in years to be quite as fraught with fear. 

He struggled to climb out of the sledge bearing the scribe, cursing the height he had to descend from the sledge to get back to the ground. Discerning the depth was near impossible, between his one eye and the panic thrumming in his veins. 

“Your Majesty, we love you dearly, but you are going to trip and crash and bust somebody’s head open,” said Dori. “You first, then Ori, and you two love bugs can snuggle all you like. I won’t stop you.”

“Not an option,” was all Fili could manage, his gaze flitting from Ori, who was tensely curled in his arms, to the drop below him. 

“Your funeral,” Dori chuckled. “I won’t stop him when he takes his sword out on you.”

“Ori, lad, are you all right?” Gloin called.

Ori’s face was set and terse, his gaze looking grimly on something a million miles away. With a shudder, he called out, voice clipped, “Leg.”

There was suddenly a strong set of hands under Fili’s ribcage, holding him firm, and Mizim’ voice saying, “I’ve got you, you just lean back now, I won’t let nobody fall.”

Trusting his weight to his mother, Fili gathered Ori up, felt the scribe’s arms automatically go around his neck, and let himself step backwards off the sledge as Mizim lowered him down til his feet touched the snow.

Ori was certainly not as light as he remembered, what with the coats and weapons on his person, but he was not unbearable by any means; he radiated heat, though he shivered with tense muscles. He did not look at Fili, though he was holding on to him. 

The King looked ahead to see the Skin Changer’s house, and began to move towards it, walking past the dwarves and reindeer. He was soon flanked by the elf and his mother, the former of which wasted no time in getting to business.

“Beorn may be hibernating now, but he will not protest your presence under the circumstances,” said Legolas. “He sleeps for a few days, then wakes to tend to his animals. With any luck, this will be a few days during which he sleeps, so we can be gone before he even wakes to realize we were here. How long will your scribe need to recover? I don’t know when we’ll get another chance to rest like this, and if this is going to be a frequent occurrence—“

“We’ll take as long as we need,” snapped Fili.

“But you must remember, we are on the run, and—“

Dis cut him off smoothly, surprising Fili as she said, “We take as long as we need. We could all use a moment to catch our breath. Any kind of bear, awake or asleep, is just the kind of guard we could use at the moment.”

 

Tauriel found Kili and Hrollr in the beech clearing, the pair of them standing alone and still and stunned, eyes fixed on the ground under their feet. She nearly giggled at them and asked if they were waiting for the first flower of spring to rise up, until a muffled chord shook under her feet, making her stagger.

One look with the dwarves was all she needed to confirm her fears: they were standing on top of the Firey Hammers.

With a shaky hand, she gestured them to her, away from the subterranean chamber.

“How could this have happened?” Kili asked, more to himself than to them. “How could nobody have noticed them right next to us? It’s impossible that they were there for long.”

“My money is on were-worms,” whispered Tauriel. “They must have made a tunnel through this way during the Battle.”

“So now the Hammers took up use of it?” asked Hrollr. “Why? Could they be planning on taking it to Erebor somehow? I thought that the were-worm caves had been blocked.”

“They were,” said Kili. “But it doesn’t mean that they can’t push out, or tunnel under the mountain.”

“A message should be sent to the Mountain,” whispered Hrollr, “and while they’re pushing there, we can see where they took the tunnel from, find where they’ve been all this time.”

Tauriel nodded. “We’ll send the message ourselves, and be at the ready should Erebor call. Then you can ride ahead, catch up to Fili and the company—“

At her words, Kili’s face went pale. “Captain, I just had a thought,” he said.

Tauriel frowned. “What might that be, Captain?”

“We don’t know where this tunnel might have started, correct?”

“That’s right, it could have been entered anywhere.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Kili, wide-eyed and grim. “There’s a chance that my family could be down there, with them.”

Hrollr felt her stomach drop at the elf Captain’s flinch. “What do you want to do, Captain?” Tauriel asked.

Hrollr looked at her Captain, took in the worried, distant look on his face, the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. Swallowing her nerves, she said, “I think it’s quite clear what must be done. We need to go in and find out.”

Kili looked at her, astonished. “Lieutenant, we need to consider that they could also be quite far away at this point, there’s always the chance that they’re not so far off, and even if they are down there, they could be found easily once the message is sent to the mountain.”

“Then we split up,” Hrollr shrugged. “One of us goes down into the tunnels, the other rides to find the others.”

“If you go down there, you may very well die,” Tauriel reminded them. “And how will you find the other, if you split up?”

“Well, whatever we decide, a decision needs to be made, and fast,” Kili hissed. “And, personally, I elect to go down there. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”

Hrollr nodded. “Then you know I’m going with you, Captain.”

Kili grimaced, but his eyes smiled. “That rather goes against the purpose of splitting up, but how can I stop you, Lieutenant.”

Hrollr wrinkled her nose in embarrassment, but then Tauriel offered, “I’ll send the message along to the mountain, to expect them and search the tunnels. At this hour, Legolas will have to rest the reindeer, which gives us time to do a brief search, then you must get out. If neither of you are out in two hours, I’m going in after you, then you’re riding out of here. Are we clear? You get two hours only, to pull of any derring-do, Captain.”

“Understood, Captain,” Kili smiled at her. “Two hours.”

Hrollr gave them both a look, then suggested, “If we’re going to dig into the tunnel, we’d better go a ways away from here to do it. I didn’t hear anything from underground about half a kilometre west, that should be a safe spot to jump in.”

 

Lady Otti was exhausted. She figured she must have only spent half an hour with this prisoner, but it felt like four hours had past since she sat down and this dwarf began to speak.

“…and when they come, they shall shake the mountain to its roots, and unearth that nefarious line, finish the work that the Monstrous One began—“

“May I cut in? I’m going to cut in,” said Lady Otti. “I don’t think you understood the original question. You see, I asked you, ‘Where Are the Rest of You?’ and you said that you knew. Then, instead of telling me what it was I wanted to know, you try and convert me through fear.”

“And are you afraid?” asked the dwarf, smugly.

Lady Otti raised an eyebrow. “For you? Yes. Yes I am.”

The dwarf snorted. “You’ve gotten complacent, you think you’re indestructible—“

Lady Otti stood. “If I thought I was indestructible, I would never have gotten as far as I have come today. If I thought that was the case, I would not have run half as quickly as I did when Smaug came to the mountain. I would never have survived the trek to the Iron Hills, and there is no chance that I could have made anything of myself as an artisan in my field if I felt I was beyond competition, beyond defeat.

“If I thought I was undefeatable, my dear young badger, if I thought that nothing in this world could crush me or touch me, then I would not have marched under Dain’s banner, and fought for Erebor. I would have let the world pass me by, and suffer for it. If I allowed such complacency in myself, I would not have joined the Grain Protests, nor would I have allowed King Fili to pass the Copper Act. 

“The difference between you and I, young dwarf, is that I have protested and complained against the King’s actions, and refused to stand by and watch him wreak havoc unchecked. Not his birth, not the inherited diseases of his lineage.”

The other dwarf’s hard gaze did not waver. “Smaug came to destroy the line of Durin. He was a sign, a signal to wipe them and their toadies off the face of the earth.”

Lady Otti leant in close to the bars. “You were not there when Smaug came. You do not know what was lost. And you do not know what you do, what disgrace you bring upon yourself, when you set homes on fire and cry out Smaug’s cursed name.”

She pulled back. “I want to sympathize with you. I really do. I want to be angry with someone about King Fili’s ignorance and impatience, his impracticality and idealism. But instead, you want to gripe about his genetics and tell me what a blessing it was when we were driven out and our homes destroyed. Now, I’m not going to ask you again, I’m very tired, so make it worth my while. Where is—“

Mistress Knod opened the door and rushed in. “My lady, a message from the Greenwood.”

Lady Otti took the envelope, opened it, and peered carefully at the writing. When she looked up, she closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and embraced Mistress Knod to kiss her on both cheeks.

“Good news, I think?” chuckled the gaoler.

“Marvelous,” said Otti. She turned to the dwarf in the cell, and grinned, saying, “never mind all that. You can talk all you want about whatever, I just won’t be about to hear it. We’re finally getting somewhere.”

 

Kili and Hrollr lowered themselves into the hole they had made, shimmying down the rope to the tunnel floor. Once their feet hit the floor, they began to walk in the direction of the voices.

The tunnel walls were surprisingly smooth, but Hrollr supposed that credit for that was due to the were-worms. She had only heard stories of the battle, how they had burst out of the ground with mouths gaping, like baby birds. It had struck her as a funny image as a wee badger, but then as she had gotten older and gone into tunnels herself, ideas of a huge mouth behind her, chasing her to a dead end, became more and more realized and vivid. 

She shook herself out of her frightening daydreams as the voices grew more and more clear, reverberating around them, and a warm glow at the end of the tunnel appeared. As they drew nearer, the glow began to take a form: a tall, white canvas stretched on a frame was propped up in the tunnel, with bright torches set up beneath it. Something was painted, or was being in the process of being painted upon the canvas.

Reaching it, they circled it, seeing the front of the piece, and what they saw stole their breath.

“Merciful Mahal,” whispered Hrollr, taking in the mournful eyes, the crossbow arrow in the brow, the flaming mistletoe in its hands, the text beneath it, “Ever-Glowing Lasta.”

“I know,” hissed Captain Kili in return, “they made him ginger. He wasn’t even close to being ginger.”

She gave him a look. “Captain, I really think your priorities are—“

“Who are you?!” barked a strange voice behind them. They spun around to see a dwarf in an orange hood, with a sprig of mistletoe pinned to his cloak. “I don’t remember seeing either of you about. State your business!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's fanart for this made by a friend, but I have no idea how to put it up on here. It was scanned and sent to me as a PDF. If it helps, I own a mac?


	9. Chapter 9

The words were out of Hrollr before she could stop them. “There was a sinkhole above the tunnel. So we jumped in.”

The orange-hooded dwarf tilted his head skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Hrollr looked to the Captain, hoping he would take over and say something. Instead, his eyes were on her, wide and lost. 

Her throat dry, Hrollr barreled on: “We… we came from the mountain. We were… well, we were hoping we’d run into you.”

“Were you?” asked the dwarf, not sounding terribly convinced.

Hrollr felt the back of her neck prickle with sweat. “Yes. Yes, we were. You see, we were… admiring the painting here, and my friend here was noticing the differences between the subject and the way he is portrayed here—“

The dwarf looked stunned. “You knew him? You knew Ever-Glowing Lasta?”

Hrollr blinked. “Yes. Well. Briefly. Just before the end.”

Then something incredible happened. The orange-hooded dwarf clasped his hands together, and a radiant smile beamed from underneath his fine moustache. “This is wonderful, too wonderful!” he cried. “Our messenger from the mountain told us only of the Miracle of Lasta’s Faith, but had nothing to do with the Ever-Glowing one.”

Hrollr barely had time to draw breath before his arm was about her shoulders, guiding her down the corridor. “Please, you must tell us of him, how you knew him and heard his words. You and… oh, what are your names?”

“Me?” Hrollr stammered. “Nob—er, I’m… Nobdi. A-and this is Nwun.”

Kili made a noise behind her. 

“Sorry,” he said, coughing. “Just. Wow. All that dashing about outside did a number on me.” Then a worrisome twinkle came to his eye and he added, mouth twisting, “Nobdi’s hardier than I am.”

Hrollr vowed that if they both got out of here, she was going to tell Tauriel on him. 

 

Seybur knew he had won the race between him and his sister to the great wooden door, but it suddenly dawned on him that they had forgotten one rather important detail in the planning of this enterprise—what honor would befall the victor.

“Whoops, looks like you beat me,” said Bodhir when she caught up to him. “Well, winner gets to knock on the door.”

Seybur shook his head. “No, that was the loser.”

“Mm, no, I could have sworn that was the winner’s prize.”

Seybur looked to see if any of the adults were watching to take his side, but they were all where the children had left them, standing in a cloud around Fili and Ori, arguing and fussing. 

“Well?” said Bodhir, primly. “Aren’t you going to do it? Or are you scared?”

“No I’m not!” he snapped automatically. “It’s just…” he floundered, “I know the difference between bravery and self-preservation. I’m being self-preserving.”

Bodhir raised an eyebrow at him. 

He sighed. “Okay. Fine. But I don’t have to like it.”

And so he turned to look at his fate. The door itself must have been four times as tall as the elf, and five times as wide as Adad, and all the frame was carved with brutal, twisted shapes like bear maws and claws. There was a knocker, but it was far above his head.

“Can’t do it,” he said. “Can’t reach the knocker.”

Bodhir threw up her hands, crying, “you have two hands, knucklehead! Use ‘em!”

Seybur flinched, but turned to the door once again, exhaled heavily, and raised one shaky fist…

“And you have to really knock, no baby-taps,” said Bodhir.

He hoped the noise he made sounded more like a put-upon sigh and not so much a whine. He clenched his fist tighter, exhaled slowly, braced his arm, leaned back to knock with all his strength against the heavy pine wood, and—

\--nearly fell right inside the house when the door was pulled open.

“Well, hullo there,” boomed a voice above him. 

Seybur’s eyes started on the boots that seemed as big as the rowboats in the Lake, then moved upwards past the legs like pine-trunks, craning his neck until he was eye-to-eye with the bristly giant in brown furs who was craning his own neck to peer down at him.

“Well?” said the giant, “what are you? Fish, fowl, or good red herring?”

“Meep,” said Seybur.

The giant blinked. “Fowl, it would seem.”

“We’re not foul,” shrieked Bodhir. “Dwarrow are not foul!”

The giant seemed surprised to see her, and scratched his beard wonderingly. “A clutch of them. But is there a brood too?”

He looked up and past Bodhir, squinted, then made a low harrumphing noise deep in his throat as he put his hands on his hips. Then he raised a hand, waved and bellowed, “hey, neighbors!”

Seybur was too scared stupid by the monstrous man to turn and look, but he could hear Gimli’s short shriek and Fili’s frantic call, “Beorn! Master Beorn! We need your help, please, it’s urgent—“

“I should think so,” thundered the giant. “For you to all come out at once for a change, it must be quite the calamity. However,” he said, pointing to Seybur, “I see you’ve brought me supper, so I suppose shall be lenient.”

And with that, Seybur fainted. 

 

“…and thus it was that the Ever-Glowing one departed from this world,” Hrollr concluded, with a sweep of her arms and a bow that she hoped hid her face, while the applause ruptured all through the tunnel. Before long, that applause escalated into cheers, stomping of boots, and a rallying cry of, “Hail, Lasta, Hail!” began, reverberating all around.

That was, Hrollr had to admit, decidedly the strangest thing she had ever done. It must have been less than an hour she was up there, ad-libbing The Passion of Lasta, pulling what she had gathered of his file and public confession prior to Kili’s entrance to the cell from her memory into a tale that would put even the most whimsical elf poet into a state of confusion.

Now, she stood before a candlelit assembly of nearly a hundred dwarves, all clad in orange hoods, shaking before their applause. Sitting against the tunnel wall was Captain Kili, face in his hands and shaking himself.

Tinga, the dwarf that had brought them before the assembly, came to her side again to clasp her hands and smile brightly and admiringly at her. “We are incredibly, incredibly blessed that you have been brought here to us to share this insight into the Ever-Glowing one with us.”

Tinga turned to the assembly again, presenting Hrollr to them. “We have Nobdi to thank for this gift!”

“Hail! Hail Nobdi!” they cheered, loud enough Hrollr was sure that the tunnel would cave in on them.

Captain Kili made a truly undignified, muffled noise where he stood against the wall of the tunnel. Concerned, Tinga regarded him, then turned to Hrollr, asking, “is anything the matter with Nwun?”

That made Kili even worse, somehow, burying his face even further into his hands as he hiccupped out, “oh my… Smaug. It’s just. Such an emotional thing. Nobdi truly captures the essence of Lasta’s… Ever-Glowing… oh my head. I beg your pardon. I need a moment.”

Hrollr fixed him with the dirtiest look she could afford to shoot under the circumstances as he shuffled off down the tunnel, still shaking with hidden laughter. Tinga turned his attention back to the assembly, joining their chants, and Hrollr watched as Kili began shuffling his way over to her to embrace her, burying his face into her neck.

“You’re magnificent,” he giggled in her ear. “That was—holy shit, you really were taking good notes, weren’t you?”

“There, there,” she said drily, pounding him on the back harder than may have been necessary.

“We need to leave soon, remember?” he whispered. “Otherwise, Tauriel is going to come in and burn the place down. I didn’t see any of them in the crowd, listening, but they like you well enough by now. We’ll have them guide us around, see if they’re not tucked away any place.”

With that, he pulled back, made a show of wiping his eyes, and patted her on the shoulder. “We must ask,” he said.

“Ask what?” asked Tinga.

“Oh,” said Kili, voice thin and wan, as if he had been weeping, “I was just so distraught, forgive me. I fear…” he sniffled, “it’s such a ridiculous notion, but it troubles me so…”

“Whatever could it be that troubles you, Nwun?” asked Tinga, eyes wide and sympathetic.

Kili’s hand flew to his mouth again to stifle another noise, and Tinga put his arms around the Captain, shushing him. 

“We heard such terrible rumors, leaving the mountain,” said Kili, affecting a sob. “That the Durins were making ready to leave. It was naught but murmurs, conjecture, but still, all this effort, and planning, put to waste on a mountain empty of the rats! It’s too terrible to think of!”

Tinga pulled back, astonished. “Is this what you heard? Truly, you are a very font of knowledge! Our mountain messenger brought back no such news!”

“Truly?” asked Kili, sagging in relief. “Then… all is not lost?”

“No, no of course not!” soothed Tinga. “Why, everything is as right as rain!”

Then the ground began to shake beneath them. 

“What’s that?” asked Hrollr. “Are more of…the faithful coming?”

Tinga frowned. “No, not at all. All our numbers are here.” Then, the dwarf went pale. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” asked Kili.

Tinga made for the assembly, crying, “Our neighbors from the Misty Mountains have found the tunnel! Make for the mountain, before the Goblins reach us!”

Kili and Hrollr looked to each other, nodded grimly, and began to run down the tunnel, towards the yet-unseen horde. 

“We’ll hold them back,” cried over his shoulder. “Make haste to the mountain! For Lasta!”

He turned his attention to Hrollr, whispering as his call was echoed behind him. “We’ll find where we came in and climb on out. I think I saw a boulder near where we climbed in that we can roll over the hole.”

Soon, a beam of light streaming from the tunnel’s ceiling was in view, with the rope still dangling from it. The sound of Goblin war-drums and battle-shrieks grew closer and closer by the second, and Hrollr fancied she could see the gleam of their torches showing at the end of the tunnel in moments. In comparison, the time it took for them to reach the rope seemed to take hours.

Hrollr couldn’t understand how it was that the Captain reached the rope as quickly as he did; wasn’t time slowing him down too? And how could he climb so quickly? This was a nightmare, it had to have been one, and nobody moved so quickly in nightmares.

Hrollr could see the torch-light now, in truth this time; the way Kili cried down to her to climb, climb now, he’d pull her up, only confirmed it. 

The Goblins would see them. They would see the rope, they would see the way out. They would climb up and into the Greenwood, to Tauriel and the intern, rather than down the tunnel to the Hammers. 

“Roll the stone,” she called up to Kili. “Do it now.”

“No, absolutely not—“

“Kili,” she barked, “do it now, do you want them to go up there?”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off, saying, “It’s been an honour, sir. Give my best to Tauriel,” before running down the tunnel path, bellowing, “Du Bekhar!”

And with that, the slowness of nightmare time ceased, and her feet were flying too quickly towards death, towards the white, sickly-coloured, torch-bearing masses as she drew her mace, murmuring her prayers under her breath, waiting for them to draw their spears and swords, raising her mace above her head and bellowing, a pre-emptive scream for the pain, watching as the tiniest one elevated on a high litter stood, opened his own jagged mouth, to screech—

“Stand down, you fools, and kneel!”

Suddenly, her feet became much heavier and she staggered to a halt as the horde fell to its knees, screaming in terror, as the tiny one shrilled, “Behold, the Mace of Azog! Fall and grovel!”


	10. Chapter 10

It happened too quickly for Kili to absorb it as it happened; one moment he was scrambling up the rope, certain his lieutenant was behind him. Then, she was ordering him to abandon her, refusing to let him pull her up, telling him to block the entrance.

It was the decision of a moment, an instinct to leap down and go after her, interrupted by a sudden, familiar pain in his calf, then a strong grip on his hood, yanking him away from the hole, dragging him across the cold ground, and forcing him to watch as a team of green-clad elf guards rolled the boulder over the tunnel.

Things started to get fuzzy from there. He was aware of a male voice screaming, and of his own throat feeling raw. His captor had stopped dragging him, and was instead holding him close to their warm chest, long arms holding him firmly. He writhed and struggled like an anxious cat, trying to wrench the hands off him, kicking and trying to make his voice call out actual words and warnings, orders to get Hrollr for the love of all that was holy, instead of making the pitiful, weak howls that were all he could hear.

“Captain, listen to me,” soothed Tauriel’s voice in his ear, “you’re going to be fine, you understand? You’ve gotten stuck with an arrow before, this should be nothing, you’re an old pro at this.” Then she began yelling orders to her guards, and the world fuzzed out into black, just to spite Kili.

 

Seybur woke up to sounds first.

“Here he is,” came his father’s voice, softly.“How are you, darlin’?”

Seybur opened his eyes, his parents’ concerned faces hovering over his, at first blurry, then clearing up the more he blinked. He tried to speak a few times, his tongue feeling heavy, before finally managing, “please don’t let him eat me.”

Both of them sagged in relief. “He won’t eat you, dearie,” said his mother. “That was just Beorn, he wouldn’t eat a dwarf, I promise.”

“Not even one as cute as you,” said his father. “Too hairy for the likes of him, that’s us.”

“He is, what is called in some circles, a little turd,” came Ori’s voice from somewhere behind him, slurred and sleepy. 

“Ori!” scolded Fili’s voice. 

“I knew worse at his age,” Ori laughed. 

“Listen to the King, you whelp,” laughed his father. “It doesn’t do you to displease a block what’s got your leg in his hands.”

“Leg?” Seybur rasped.

His mother lifted the compress from his brow to put her own hand there. “Poor Ori’s leg is hurting him. Beorn gave him some salve for it, and Fili is helping him put it on his leg. They’re on the other side of the hay stack.”

“He’s being terrible, Seydhir,” Ori complained, calling over to Seybur’s mother.

“Well, he’s being a squirmy little rodent,” countered Fili.

Seybur’s mother rolled her eyes at them and turned her attention back to her son. “Do you think you could eat or drink something?”

He nodded, and his father moved to gently prop him up, moving slowly. He was given a piece of soft, white cheese, and in between bites, he asked where his sister was.

“She’s outside with Beorn,” said his father. “They’re having a grand old time.”

Seybur nodded, blinking as he took in the room. The entirety of the room seemed to be lavishly carved with fishes, birds, and all types of beasts, all over the beams and eaves, all so large that Seybur could count each individual scale, feather, and hair. Every beam, every chair leg, must have been thicker around than he was, he judged. There was also an abundance of livestock statuary; Over his father’s shoulder, he could make out a stunningly realistic cow, a deep mahogany-brown.

When the beast snorted, he flinched, struggling to get a better look.

“Whoop, they finally made a sound!” laughed his mother. “It’s the strangest thing, this man lives very comfortably with his beasts. We’ve put you in the manger, love. You’re small enough for it.”

“And we’re not going to let those big beasties eat you, either,” promised his father, noticing Seybur’s anxious look.

“That’s what I’m here for,” giggled Ori’s voice.

Both Seybur’s parents rolled their eyes and giggled, but there was no response from Fili, and when they looked again, both his mother and father sobered rather quickly and ducked their heads back to Seybur.

They encouraged Seybur to eat and drink some more and helped him little by little to sit up, all in a timid silence.

“That wasn’t funny,” he finally heard Fili’s voice murmur to Ori.

After a pause, he heard Ori respond in a similar hushed tone, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Try, ‘I’m sorry.’”

A sigh from Ori. “It’s just going to be inconvenient, having me around, slowing you down—“

“We’re not separating. Not again. King’s order.”

Three was another resigned sigh from Ori, then a long pause. 

Seybur heard the great door creak open then shut, and soon there were footsteps nearing him. Lady Dis came into view, snow dusting her hair and her cheeks ruddy, kneeling beside his mother.

“And how are you feeling now?” she asked, her voice casual in spite of the worried light in her eyes she shared with Seybur’s father. “Any better? How is your head feeling?”

“My head’s fine,” he answered, shyly. “I’m feeling much better, thank you, ma’am.”

She nodded firmly, exhaling slowly through her nose. “Good. Very good. I’ll tell the others on my way out the next time I go out. We’re just bringing things in now. You haven’t a thing to worry about from Beorn, I don’t even think the man eats meat.”

She looked over Seybur to where he’d heard Fili and Ori talking earlier, excused herself, and hoisted herself upwards to go to them. 

“How is this one?” she asked her son.

“Sleeping now,” he answered. “Whatever was in that draught Beorn offered for the pain, it’s put him out now. You ought to have heard him, the silly thing. Dori’d never let him hear the end of it, he was behaving like a brother of Nori’s.”

“Hm,” said Dis. “And his leg?”

“We’ll see how it is when he wakes.”

There was a lull in their conversation, one that Seybur’s parents didn’t bother to fill. After a minute of quiet, the doors opened again, and Seybur heard the voices of the company chattering and quiet thumps where they set down their supplies. His parents soon offered to go out and help, once they had extracted a promise from Seybur that he would lie still and quiet. He gave it, and they were off, soon alone again with Fili and Dis behind him. 

The adults behind him remained silent, but rather than out of any sense of ease, Seybur felt the quiet in the air turn tense, waiting. He obliged them by evening out his breath into slow, rhythmic draws and releases, soft enough that he could hear them once they started to whisper again.

“Do you intend to make another attempt like we made at Greenwood?” hissed Dis. “To leave behind Oin and Balin and the rest who suffer traveling?”

“That is a great burden to leave on Beorn,” was Fili’s hushed reply. “Besides, I have asked Oin and Balin, and they refuse to leave. Bombur and Seydhir, Gloin and Mizim, none of them are willing to leave behind their children, especially when they remember how much danger was in Greenwood without our knowing.”

“And the scribe?”

“His name is Ori, mother,” Fili snapped, his voice raising slightly. He sighed, then whispered, “He’s no exception. He travels with us.”

“Have you spoken with Dori and Nori about that?”

“No, but I can only assume—“

“Because I did. Fili, love, they are terrified of what will happen to Ori if he is made to continue travelling as we have been doing, what it will do to his leg, his health. Speak with Beorn. Share their worries. It may be for the best if he stays—“

“He comes with us. No one is being separated.”

“What about for the sake of speed?”

“Mother, what is so difficult to understand? We stay as a group. I will speak to his brothers, they won’t want him to be alone—“

“Fili, I love you, but are you thinking about what the company needs, or are you thinking about what you want?”

Then, all in a rush, Fili asked, “Mother, are you saying this because you don’t trust Ori?”

He didn’t get an answer, for Beorn kicked the door open, dusted liberally with snow and sporting Bodhir on his shoulder like a bird and carrying all eight of the reindeer in his arms like a litter of kittens. Trailing behind him came the rest of the company, bearing supplies and setting them down hither and yon throughout the hall. 

Beorn set the little dwarrowdam down, then proceeded to set the reindeer down gently in the stalls one by one, handling them with a delicacy Seybur saw only reserved for newborns, or eggs. 

“Beautiful little animals,” he boomed, speaking as he made his rounds. “They’re of the northern variety, I wager.”

“You’d be correct,” came the elf’s voice from somewhere near the hearth. “My mother’s pride and joy, they are. She breeds them up north.”

“That’s lovely,” laughed the skinchanger, pausing to kiss one lightly on the nose before setting it down. “What did she name them?”

The elf made a choking noise, then quickly recovered to say, “They’ve got names, but not ones she gave them.”

“Oh no?”

“Afraid not. She isn’t in the habit of naming her reindeer; says it’s bad luck to name what’s going to be for supper.”

Beorn turned to give the elf a horrified look, holding the reindeer all the tighter.

“I know,” said the elf sympathetically. 

Beorn resumed his depositing the reindeer. “Well, as soon as she comes ‘round these parts, you let them loose and let them come to me.”

Once he was finished, he turned to look down at Seybur where he lay. “And how’s everyone doing over here?” he asked, scratching his beard, causing some stray melting drops to fall on Seybur’s brow. “I’m certain I didn’t mean to give you such a fright.”

“Better, thank you,” Seybur managed, finding his voice.

Beorn squinted at him, then nodded firmly, and looked over Seybur to where Ori rested and Dis and Fili watched over him.

“Not too shabby, said Dis’s voice. “But I must ask—“

“We’ll be gone as swiftly as we can,” said Fili, cutting her off. “I’m sure it’s been explained to you just how much speed is of the essence—“

Beorn waved him off, making his way to the hearth. “Trust me, it’s all been explained to me, where you’re going and why. I think it’s for the best for everybody if you stay here, rest and recover today, spend the night. You have my sympathies about young Kili, by the way.”

“Thank you,” murmured Fili. Dis made no sound.

“If he’s still as I remember, he’ll be quite slippery to catch,” assured the skinchanger. “I’ll wager he’s not far behind you, at all. Which is why I’m kicking you out first thing in the morning.”

All sounds of unpacking came to an abrupt halt, and Seybur’s father laughed nervously, “But he don’t mince words!”

“No he don’t,” agreed Beorn, reaching the fireplace, and gently urging Bodhir and Oin away. “See, I’m a bit wary about having wanted folks in my home for too long. I don’t pay much mind to goblins, they don’t give me any trouble, and they’re too far away to give you much trouble, but these arsonist dwarves you’ve got on your tail are something else entirely. As dearly as I hope, Fili, that your brother is on your tail, I can’t help but fear that these arsonists could be equally close at hand. I mean, look at this place!” he exclaimed, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “I just fixed those eaves! Took me far longer than I’d have liked.”

“No worries,” said Fili. “I completely understand.”

“Good,” said Beorn, lowering himself down on all fours in front of the hearth. “You’re a very reasonable dwarf. I’ll send you all off with breakfast tomorrow, but I do want all of you gone. Even you, little Bodhir, now stand back. And you may want to get under the table.”

As he shook himself clear of the snow, there was a great cry from the dwarves and a tremendous, hairy deluge that seemed to fly in every direction.

 

Tauriel felt a stirring in the furs against her side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kili’s dark head lift itself up, his eyes blinking blearily against the wind.

“Captain?” he croaked.

“Good to see you awake, Captain,” she answered, raising her voice so he could hear her through the howling air. “Your second time having an arrow in that leg was not quite so dramatic as the first. Do you remember any of it?”

“Where the hell are we?”

“Currently, just out of Greenwood’s borders. We shall have to stop, soon; the elks don’t have as much endurance as the reindeer. We’re coming up to an ally, though, so we can stop there. Let me know if you start to get motion-sick, I don’t have much practice driving the sledge. Now tell me what you recall.”

He was quiet, but soon he spoke haltingly. “Hrollr and I were getting out of the tunnel, and there were goblins… she… “

Suddenly, he was frantic, clutching her arm. “Tauriel, is she here? Where is Hrollr?”

Tauriel felt her stomach start to turn. She let the elk come to a rest, turning her attention to Kili, keeping her voice steady. “We thought she had fallen already to the goblins.”

Kili looked as though she had struck him. He shook his head, “No, no, we were going to climb up, but the goblins were gaining on us, and she was going to go down to fight them, and I was going to go down too, but then my leg, and then you were there, and were pulling me up, and…”

“I cannot be forgiven,” Tauriel interrupted him, throat feeling thick. “I got there just as you had climbed out. I had you pulled out, I gave the order to have the stone rolled over. We looked down into the tunnel, but we heard only the screams of goblins, not of your lieutenant.”

Kili folded in on himself, bent over his knees. She caught snatches of his mumblings, “I should have made her go first, I should have stayed, it should have been me—“

Tauriel had to swallow to clear her throat before continuing. “Kili, what I did, what I failed to do was… it was completely despicable of me. It was cowardly, and cruel, and I cannot apologize enough. I can only say that my focus was on healing you, but that’s not enough. It’s not enough.”

Kili made a sound like a bagpipe being deflated, then began to shake with great shuddery breaths. Tauriel was torn between wanting to stroke his hair and shush him, and walking back to Greenwood in disgrace. 

Deciding that indulging herself right now was rather against the purpose, she closed her eyes tightly shut, inhaled, then exhaled slowly.

“All I can do now is get you to your family,” she said decidedly. “I can do that much right now. Unless you tell me you need otherwise.”

She waited until he was calmer, if not fully relieved. “If you like,” she said carefully, “I can leave. I thought you might appreciate the help and company, but—“

He shook his head. “Stay,” came his muffled voice. “Please. Unless there is some danger in leaving Greenwood behind?”

“None,” she promised. “It is left in good hands.”

Inwardly she added, “I hope.”

 

“Ah, someone has come at last. For all that’s good, fetch some evergreen, or something to clear the air in here, it stinks of wine and disappointment and—I say, you aren’t my son or my Captain.”

“No, no, ah, I’m afraid not, your majesty- King Thranduil- sir.”

“Well, then, who are you? I don’t remember hiring you.”

“I’m… I’m the intern, your majesty.”

“Oh. Well. Huh. Well, I suppose I could do with a status report. Here, have some of this wine, I made far too much and put too much work into it to simply throw it away.”


	11. Chapter 11

Ori could make out the shape of the eaves above his head in the dark without his without his glasses, but that was about it. Looking to the side, he could see Fili a little more clearly, curled up and breathing deeply. Such was the state of the other dwarves in the house, presumably; Ori didn’t need a water clock this time to tell him how unspeakably early it was. 

Ori wanted to wake Fili up, ask him where his spectacles were, find out what kind of pain medicine he had taken that had made him sleep the day away, what news there was, anything to keep him from being bored and waiting for the sun to come up. His fingers began to creep over to Fili, until they ran into something long, thin, and heavy. Checking again, Ori found it was his cane. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember if he had put it down before Fili began to fuss over him, or if Fili had placed it there, or whatever. 

He decided against pestering Fili, and wrapping his hand around his cane. Cautiously, he pushed himself to be sitting upright, patted himself around his chest and pockets to see if Fili had tucked his spectacles anywhere on his person, and when he couldn’t find them, decided to try walking around, to search and perhaps alleviate the boredom of being the only one awake.

He set the cane upright, feeling for a crack in the floor beneath the straw he could perhaps set it in, and once he felt it stable, set his weight between the cane and the foot on his good leg, and slowly began to hoist himself up, climbing his hands upwards on the cane. He slipped and landed on his bum perhaps five or so times (this really was easier if he had someone helping him), but he managed getting upright all the same. 

He tried to stand on both legs, cautiously testing how much weight his bad leg could hold, and nearly whined when he found out that it wasn’t too much yet. It felt far too sore and stiff yet, a miserable ache that had him hopping around the skinchanger’s hall like a one-legged pigeon. He wanted to curse, wanted to go back to sleep, wanted someone to talk with him and let him lean on them—

Fuck it, he decided. If he was going to throw a fuss, he was going to do it outside where nobody could hear him.

He remembered the location of the door well enough, and once he’d hopped there, he reached around for the massive lock. It took some more fumbling, but through sheer spite and determination, he braced himself on the door and reached up with his cane to slide it open.

Beorn must have oiled the hinges, because it opened far too quickly and quietly and Ori almost fell square on his face.

The cold was horrible, and his leg protested, but Ori shut the door behind him firmly all the same, shutting himself out in the snow. He was going to be spending a lot of time out in the cold anyhow, he was going to get himself used to it.

There was a cleared path around the house, looking like a dark river against the moonlit snow. The stars and moon were little more than a blur to Ori, each a pale ghostly candle in the heavens, and he wondered what constellations shone above them. Well, he knew theoretically, but the lack of spectacles took away any certainty of what was above him. 

Well, he didn’t come all the way outside into the cold to gaze like an elf at the infinite. He was going to take a walk.

He fixed his weak eyes on the path, took a breath and took a step.

“Shit,” he gasped. It was like the muscles in his leg had frozen solid, refusing to move. What was worse, the base of his walking stick slid on a sleek surface of ice. “Fuck damn.”

He would make a circuit around the house before the night was up. It might just take all night. 

 

Kili felt the sledge slow to a halt, and Tauriel’s hand on his back. 

“Here we are,” she said softly. 

He lifted his head slowly from where he had rested it on his hands, blinking away the last stubborn tears. He almost laughed; Beorn’s house was glowing in the light of the moon. He hadn’t ever expected to get this far, he’d promised Hrollr a short trip. She would have lost her mind here, would have bristled around the enormous animals, would—

He made himself stop that train of thought before it was too late and Tauriel started to worry even more than she already was. He would focus on getting down from this sledge, and think about how he would introduce Tauriel to the skinchanger, how he would explain their presence, what to do if he was asleep, etc., etc.

He started to get out, hoisting his legs over the edge, and getting ready to hop into the snow—

“Oh,” he gasped, looking down.

“Shit, your leg,” Tauriel fussed behind him. “You’re not putting weight on that thing any time soon. You heal quick, but you’re not as young as you were, I’ll—“

“Tauriel,” he said, turning to look at her, eyes impossibly wide. “Did you say reindeer pulled the sledge that carried my brother and his company?”

She frowned, confused. “Yes, why— oh.” Her eyebrows raised in amazement. 

Kili felt a giddy smile spread across his face, helplessly giggling. Tauriel leaned over the edge of the sledge, squinting in the dark, asking, “Are the prints really that close to us? How are you able to see in this dark?”

“Dwarf eyes,” he laughed. “They’re good for quite a bit. Oh my word. We’ve got to be quiet, Nori’s insufferable when he’s been woken up from his sleep— Tauriel, what is it?”

The elf’s face was pensive, eyes glancing about, and Kili swore he saw her ears twitch. “It’s the damndest thing, I could have sworn I heard… well, next to the house, I think someone’s awake already.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” he asked giddily. “Let’s go! Come on, give me a boost, let’s go!”

 

“Shit, motherfucking shit, damn...” Ori muttered the litany like a mantra, cursing his useless leg that was only complaining worse the longer he was out. He had only just turned the corner, was almost at the point of turning ‘round to the other side, but the walk had taken far too long, and there was no way his pride was going to allow him to turn around back to the door. “Shit, shit, damn, shit—“

“Ori?”

He twisted his neck around, his heart jolting, and shrieked.

 

His mother had never answered his question.

Fili couldn’t understand it; if anything, he would have expected her to roll her eyes and explain how she didn’t want Ori to have a worrisome burden like Fili, with a penchant for carelessness and a mountain to devote so much time and care for. She should have scolded Fili for thinking that she would do something like disapprove of lovely, wise, kind-hearted Ori. She should have waggled her finger and warned him not to push himself on the scribe, indicated all the times she could have construed any attempts at flirting on Fili’s part.

He wished that she had said something.

When Beorn had assured him that Ori’s painkillers ought to put him out of commission until morning, Fili made sure that the scribe’s spectacles went to his brothers, who both gave one another a startled but knowing look. Nori took charge of them, going to place them in his own coat pocket, while Dori had smiled broadly at Fili, patted his shoulder and said that Ori was in good hands with Fili, a fact which pleased Dori and Nori immensely. He had even suggested, as the company got ready to sleep, that Fili take the spot closest to Ori. For safety’s sake, of course.

Ori had still been asleep as everyone settled in to rest, and Fili had made sure his mother had seen when he put Ori’s walking stick between him and the scribe. 

It was the oddest thing, Fili had thought, that the other family should be so ready to encourage this behaviour from him, while his own family didn’t approve of him.

He slept more deeply than he meant to, waking to a scream in the dark and rolling over to find that Ori’s space was empty next to him. The door was kicked open, and Beorn was already a snarling bear, grouchy and ready for blood at the threshold. Fili was barely pulled together with his weapons, when Beorn’s snarls suddenly halted and he began to shrink into a man when Kili’s friend, the red-haired elf, come running inside, eyes wild and harried.

“Master Beorn,” she said all in a rush, “Sorry we had to meet properly this way. Your Majesty, esteemed company, I promise you can go right back to sleep after this. It’s just, there’s two dwarves with bad legs out there, and I can only carry so many at once.”

“Who’s the other?” he asked.

She barked out an exhausted laugh. “Guess.”

Fili didn’t have to.

Forgoing his coat, he made a dash in the direction of the door, stumbling as he went, forgetting to apologize when he brushed past Tauriel, out the door, the cold nearly taking his breath away, bellowing out his brother’s name.

“Over here!”

It came from the other side of the house. He almost slipped on the ice, before jumping to the side to run on the snow, hating the way it made his boots fall and rise all the slower as he ran. 

Kili was here. Kili was so close, alive, but needed him, Tauriel had said his leg was bad, he was somewhere here, in shouting distance, but Fili couldn’t find him, and that was the worst of it, so close but invisible, and—

“Fili!”

There.

His brother was waving him down, kneeling on the ice, with an Ori-shaped bulk in his lap. There was laughter in his voice, and a vibrancy in the way he moved that told Fili he was fine, he was alive, he was there, it was no trick, there was his brother after everything, and it took his breath and drove him forwards.

From then on, time seemed to right itself; Fili might have flown to his brother, knelt next to him, and as he threw his arms around Kili he felt Kili’s arm go around him. There was his warmth, his laughter in Fili’s ear, and Fili both keenly felt his absence as he never had and felt the world slide back into its order and place. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Fili rasped. “You could have died.”

“You don’t even know what I did!” laughed his little brother.

“Not yet, but I know you could have.”

Kili went quiet at that, and Fili felt a chill. He pulled back, took in his brother’s now downcast look, and decided that an interrogation could wait. He sighed, clasped Kili’s shoulder one more time, then turned his attention down to Ori.

Ori was tight-faced, looking away from the pair of them. Kili was holding him securely enough, even with one arm, but Fili wanted to cradle his head, put his own arm around him, carry him again, and not let him go again this time, if it meant he was spared from the wrath of Nori and Dori…

“And you, young master,” he instead scolded Ori, pulling his hand away at the last moment, “you are going to be the death of me.”

Ori flinched at that, setting his jaw even tighter. Fili added, “your brothers told me to keep my eye on you, and you elude me.”

“To be fair,” said Kili, “they did put their trust in the one-eyed dwarf. Not their best idea.”

“They trusted my other, superior instincts. The instincts that didn’t get me a leg injury for the second time in less than a century. What was it, an arrow? In the same leg too as last time, I bet.”

Kili’s mouth twisted as he looked askance, and Fili hooted. “Mahal in his halls, you’re joking! How did you do it? That’s a regular gift, that is!”

Kili didn’t answer, but pursed his lips even tighter, a knit in his brow. 

Fili heard Tauriel behind them, her footsteps light. Next to her came a set of heavier footsteps, and their mother’s call of, “Kili!”

Kili looked up, put a smile on, and murmured to Fili, “Come on, the lame can’t carry the lame tonight.” To Ori, he said, “Passing you to Fili, all right?”

Ori nodded, and let Fili pull him into his arms around again. Kili, for his part, let himself be pulled to his feet by their mother, who put her forehead to his for a moment before letting Tauriel scoop him up, following a few paces, then stopping and turning around.

Fili felt her eyes on him as he held Ori, trying to meet his eyes. Ori was shaking, one hand white-knuckled around his walking stick, the other brought to his mouth. His eyes had that same far-away look they had had earlier today, hard and cold and focused.

“Bet you’re all sobered up,” murmured Fili, sliding over to the snow. “Technically, Beorn said that you should be waking up in the morning, and I suppose he was right, wasn’t he? Bet he didn’t think it would be quite this early though. How’s that for dwarf hardiness?”

His back hit the wall of snow, and he scootched himself up into the bank, still holding Ori. “For my next feat, I shall stand while holding one scribe. Please hold your applause until the end. Ready? Hup, one, two, three—“

He pushed himself up with a grunt, then a sputter as he felt his mother’s strong hands under his ribs pulling him up. Once he was settled on his feet, his mother turned and strode in the direction Tauriel had carried his brother. He looked down at Ori, shrugged lightheartedly at his distant face, and followed her, suppressing his own bewilderment.


	12. Chapter 12

Fili and Ori came in to the company awake and surrounding Kili, who lay propped up and pampered, with Oin checking his bandaged and cleaned leg and Bombur and Seydhir preparing the leftovers from their supper for him. Tauriel and Beorn were busy getting the elk stabled, and Fili was surprised to see that the beasts were so large that not even Beorn could carry them. 

He frowned when there was one head nowhere to be seen. 

“Ori,” he asked, “did you happen to see Legolas anywhere?”

Ori snorted and shook his head. “Focus was elsewhere,” he gritted out.

Fili was relieved to hear him verbalizing. “Well,” he said, tone casual, “I suppose he’ll show when he shows. Hope he doesn’t complain about the elk cohabiting with the reindeer.”

A thought came to him. “As long as Kili’s the centre of attention, do you want Tauriel to take a look at your leg? She might be able to—“

“There’s nothing to be done,” snapped Ori. “Just put me down, I need to walk. It’ll be easier in the warm.”

Fili frowned. “I’m no healer, but I’m not so sure that’s really wise. Beorn said earlier that you needed to rest it and stretch it out, not put weight on it.”

“Excuse me, but are you the one with the bum leg?” Ori fixed him with his darkest look. “Now put me down, or I’ll hit you with my cane.”

“Not slice me up?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Fili held him a little closer, just for a moment, before righting him on his feet again. “All right, all right.”

He decided to keep his hands on Ori’s waist a little longer until he felt certain Ori was standing solidly on his feet. It took a while, with Ori swaying and figuring out the best way to stand with his walking stick. Finally, Ori looked up at him, jaw still tight, but brown eyes finally settled back in the real world with Fili, bright and determined and—

He frowned and put the fingers of his free hand to Fili’s arm. “Don’t go nagging at me to sit down until you’ve warmed yourself up. Why in the world aren’t you in your coat?”

Perhaps it had been stupid of Fili to go running out like that. Ori’s fingers felt beautifully warm, even through the layer of his shirt. “I heard the cry that there were two dwarves out in the cold, and between the two of them only had two functional legs. We’ll have to see about making up a walking stick for Kili, so you can match.”

Ori sputtered a laugh, his hand tightening on Fili’s arm to steady himself, even warmer than his fingers. “Sword and everything?”

Fili grinned, unintentionally firming his hold on Ori. The scribe still felt wobbly, he thought. “Mahal, no, he’d hurt himself.”

“We can’t talk about him like this while he’s in the same room.”

“He can’t hear us from over here.”

“But he can see you just fine,” called Kili from where he lay. Fili turned his head to give his grinning brother the dirtiest look he could manage, ignoring the teasing laughter and looks from the rest of the company. His mother was striding over to the kitchen, her face turned away before Fili could try to read it.

He felt Ori start to pull away, and the scribe was out of his arms before Fili could look at him again, hobbling off in the opposite direction, back turned to them. 

“So lad,” Fili heard Oin croak to his brother, “what’s the story behind this injury?”

Kili didn’t answer straightaway, making them laugh. “Oh, is it that embarrassing?” Nori guffawed. “This is going to be golden.”

“No, it’s,” Kili stammered, voice uncertain. “It’s just… a difficult tale to tell. And you’re right, Nori, a shameful one for me. It’s… well, do you remember my—“

He was interrupted when Legolas came running through the door, his hair and cloak white with snow. 

“I’ve got some good, lousy, and pretty annoying news,” he said distractedly, scrubbing his hands through his hair, shaking off the snow. “Which do you want first?”

When he was done, he looked up and took the tableau of Kili in repose in. “Well. That’s the good news taken care of, then,” he said. 

“You get better news, too,” called Tauriel, making her way up to him. “Here I am.”

Legolas smiled warmly, meeting her halfway and taking her by the elbows. “That’s a good segue into my lousy news, actually. Hello, there.”

“Hello, yourself,” she laughed, clasping his elbows in return. “What’s wrong?”

“You only took the most eye-catching sledge in my father’s collection! Red, Tauriel? Really?”

“It was the only one left! And it should hold everyone and their supplies, it is the largest, after all.”

“Well, it’s still lousy news, because it’s what brings about the pretty annoying news.” Legolas turned his attention back to the dwarves. “I was out scouting around, and it appears that Tauriel’s sledge has indeed gotten some attention. There’s a goblin horde on wargs coming from the mountains. We’d best hurry, hitch up the reindeer to the red monstrosity. That’s the only one that will hold everybody right now.”

In the flurry of panicked activity that followed, Fili heard Ori ask Legolas, “Didn’t you say that they wouldn’t attack a sledge with Thranduil’s insignia and guard?”

“I did,” said the elf apologetically, “but this group looked fairly warlike. When we’re safe again, I’ll send a message to the Greenwood about the incident, so action can be taken, if necessary. I’m so sorry.”

“How many were there?” asked Tauriel. “Enough for us both to take care of, if need be?”

“Tauriel, we can’t go killing them willy-nilly, not unless they put our lives directly in danger. All we can do is hope that there’s just enough for us to outrun.”

Tauriel huffed. “Fine. Fine. No fun for me today, I see. Do you want me on this one?”

“Absolutely; I can’t risk going without you. I trust you left my father in safe hands?”

“I quite think I did.”

 

“Well, intern, there’s nothing quite the sweet smell of victory. We did good work here.”

“I’m loathe to argue with you there, Majesty. Celebratory cup of coffee?”

“How very kind! Thank you… Ugh!”

“Your Majesty?”

“You willingly drink this? This is… beyond terrible!”

“I’m so sorry, I gave you the same as mine, do you prefer it black? With more cream and sugar? Or—“

“Oh my word, I—there has got to be a way to make this palatable! There’s simply got to be! What are you waiting for? Get the cauldron again!”

“The one we just washed?”

“What are cauldrons for, if not getting dirty? We’ll need as big a pot of coffee as possible; hurry, intern! Hurry!”

 

Deep within the tunnels, there was a debate going on. A debate over miracles, of apostles, about the virtues of silence over speechifying. 

There was an argument that lasted long into the night, a disagreement that mounted and built into a bonfire of rage in disharmony. 

It burned with an impossible wildness, until something remarkable happened: the flame split in twain.

 

There was enough room in the sledge for Ori to stretch out in, wrapped in a small mountain of furs, huddled next to Balin, Kili, and Oin. He could feel the sledge racing along, but his view of the land racing past them was blocked by a wall of watchful dwarves. Tauriel and Legolas took the front of the sledge, bows at the ready, taking turns at driving the reindeer and watching for goblins, speaking in whispers to each other in their fluttery language.

Ori was situated closest to the edge of the sledge, his walking stick at his feet, as well as Seydhir and Bombur with their children, with Bifur joining them. Seated next to Ori was Balin and squished on his other side was Gimli; the young dwarf was kneeling on the seat and watching over the side, sandwiched between his parents. Fili and his mother were crouching at the rear of the sledge, out of Ori’s line of vision. Next to Balin, Kili was sleeping soundly as any bairn. 

Dori was grimly standing at the other side of the sledge from Ori next to Bofur. Next to the toymaker stood Nori and Dwalin, silent and solemn, one hand at their weapons, the other hand clasped in the other’s. 

Ori felt Balin poke at his arm. Looking up, he saw Balin signing at him, “You’re as tense as a bow.”

Ori huffed and fumbled to get his own hands out, signing in turn, “I’m more swaddled up than you and Oin there; I feel useless.”

“You’re experiencing the beauty of being old,” signed Oin with a grin. “You’ve become a priority already, before you’ve gotten all old and crusty, too.”

“I’m not sure I appreciate being called crusty,” signed Balin.

Oin signed for him to “embrace it.”

Ori rolled his eyes and settled back, trying to close his eyes and maybe fall asleep like Kili. 

He soon found it was a useless endeavor; the drugged sleep he had gotten before, the excitement and anxiety around him, the dry snowy chill, the nervous sense that he really should be doing something, and the milky early morning light kept him from getting any kind of rest. 

He fidgeted in his seat, wanting to walk, to stand, but his leg twinged and whined in response. He was plenty warm, and quite comfortable, but he would have cut off his right hand for the chance to run right about now. He remembered being a young badger himself, who couldn’t be paid to hold still when the first snow fell, eager to run in it, faster than his brothers or mother could catch. 

Maybe he was romanticizing things; he recalled thinking and writing some pretty nasty things about running while on the Quest. Probably was that running was simply terrible, and he was pretty awful at it. He was fairly certain he was at least a little gleeful at being told that he wouldn’t be expected to run much after the Battle, when he’d gotten this stupid leg wound. In fact, he was very sure that he thought many a time that, if it meant Fili carrying him here and there, he’d happily never walk again. 

He was a stupid little thing. He didn’t know what in the world it was that he wanted, probably never would. He might have thought a few times that he had a pretty good idea, but those times hadn’t worked out at all, had they? Probably never would.

But damn, he was pretty sure he had been a fast little bastard.

Suddenly, there was shuffling from the standing dwarves, shifting and reaching for their weapons. The elves’ whispers had escalated into murmurs, and as Ori sat up and took in the hubbub around him, they became louder and louder. 

He caught snatches of signs around him as the company began to ready their weapons, and from what he saw, either there was a deluge of cockroaches coming up, or there were goblins on the horizon. 

There was no mistaking the fact that there was too much weight on the sledge, or the discussion over what supplies could be shoved off.

Legolas cracked a whip over the reindeer’s heads, and broke his tirade of Sindarin to growl, “hurry the fuck up.”

Tauriel, kneeling on the driver’s seat and facing the back, her eyes on the horizon behind them and hand at her quiver, elbowed him sharply in the shoulder and muttered some reprimand. 

Ori tried to strain himself to turn around, but Fili and Dis blocked his view. 

“Fili,” he hissed. “What’s going on—“

Dis whirled on him, scowling and signing angrily, “Do you have no sense to shut up, or do you want to take another try at killing us?”

Fili saw, and snarled. “Will you come off it? It makes no difference now if they hear us or not, they’re close enough to hear us already.”

Dis persisted in signing, directing her glare to her son. “They don’t need to know there are dwarves in this elf-sledge, do they? Now turn around, shut up, and focus.”

“For fuck’s sake, Amad, if you think they haven’t seen the two dwarves sitting on the back of this contraption, you do a severe discredit to goblins. Trust me, I’ve actually dealt with them, and so has Ori for that matter. Ori, they’re getting close, but it’s no matter--”

“Ori does a lot of business with a lot of people, doesn’t he?” Dis finally said, voice snide and cold.

Ori turned his back to them, a cold weight in his stomach. He was beginning to finally hear the goblin shrieks approaching.

“You never answered my question,” he heard Fili say coldly. “I suppose I don’t need an answer, do I?”

Ori looked down at his walking stick, bent down to pick it up.

“Amad, what do you need from Ori to know that he doesn’t deserve, has never deserved, a drop of your ire?”

He flicked the handle, checking the blade. It was still sharp.

“What is it going to take for you? You want him to grow a new leg? Singlehandedly bring you every Firey Hammer that was, is, and ever shall be? Throw himself to the goblins, maybe?”

Ori tapped Gimli lightly on the back. He smiled at the lad, whispering, “do you suppose I could look over the side, too? All this uncertainty on my part is making me anxious.” He obliged, like a sweet and good lad ought to.

“The fact that you can’t trust him now, after all this, Amad, is not only an insult to him, but an insult to me. And before you go saying anything about what kind of a statement my trust of him is about me and my intelligence, I’d like to remind you of who has been governing the damn-fool mountain for the last thirty-six years, and with—“

Ori wanted to say something, but all the attention was on Fili anyway, right where it belonged. Fili was a clever dwarf, more than most guessed. He’d figure out what it was that had been on Ori’s mind.

He shouldered Gimli out of the way, shoved the door open, threw his walking stick out, and with his good leg, leapt into the snow.

He hit hard, but remembered to roll as he landed, and quickly found his walking stick poking out of the snow. He crawled to it, leaving the furs behind, pulled himself up, and drew the sword from its sheath.

He heard his name being screamed behind him, heard the reindeer being pulled to a halt. He turned his head slightly to call over his shoulder, not looking at the sledge, and bellowed, “If they attack me, they break peace with Greenwood, isn’t that right? You’ve lost about quite a bit of weight, shove off my kit, stop wasting time and run, you idiots!”

He turned to face the horizon, squinting at the rising sun, the blinding gleam of the snow. There was a host of stark, black shapes on the snow accompanying the amplifying screams, and the smell of wet warg fur and goblin on the breeze. Even with his weak eyes, Ori could see their spindly arms peeking out of their fur wraps like antennae, sitting like screaming, weapon-wielding hairy growths on the wargs. There were two riding at the front, the most heavily swathed; one surprisingly tall with a hunched back, the other was short and stout and swinging around a mace.

He was a little bit surprised, he thought as he settled into a fighting stance, electing to hold his ground; last time he’d had anything to do with wargs, they’d been in cahoots with the orcs. They had done quite well with their previous partners, he’d thought. It was a shame they hadn’t made the move and elected to remain in these parts, and really, any train of thought that wasn’t connected to his oncoming certain demise was a good one.

He could differentiate the shades of fur worn by each of the thirty goblins. He ought to lighten his heart with thoughts of meeting their mother again soon. He ought to give a great battle cry, and use this second chance he had been given.

Fuck it, he wanted to cry. His leg hurt, he wasn’t going to be able to move from where he stood, and even if he wasn’t killed, he would be taken prisoner, and any moment now he would hear the company’s voices start to fade away into the distance as they drove away, and he couldn’t even manage to stouten his heart with the thought of seeing his mother again because he was too damn frightened and sorry for himself for not staying and being with Fili—

“Baby, if you’re going to hold a thin little sword like that at them, at least make it look like it’s a danger to them,” came Nori’s voice behind him.

Ori jolted and looked at his brother, standing close to his left. His cheeks and nose were red and wind-burned, and he had his dangerous fox’s smile on, the one that meant someone was going to be terribly inconvenienced or dead by the end of the hour, but his eyes were warm as he said, “loosen your shoulders, pretend that it’s so sharp you could bisect a stone with it, and you’re the quickest hand in the east with it.”

“Also,” rumbled Dwalin’s voice behind him, “act like there’s a massive, mean-faced bastard with a couple of axes behind you. That usually helps.”

Ori felt a little off-balance, to say the least. It certainly didn’t help when Dori, standing at his right, sweetly said with a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll rip their spindly fucking arms off if they so much as breathe on you, sweetie.”

The goblins were close enough that Ori could tell that the hunchbacked one was really one puny, shrunken goblin sitting astride another. The mace in the other leader’s hand appeared to be of orcish make, if memory served.

Ori looked back at his oldest brother, eyes wide and feeling hot. “Is everybody else…?”

“Just about everyone who’s able to move is here,” called Bofur from somewhere behind him. “I could list off names, but that’s probably a little impractical. But don’t worry, Fili’s here, lad.”

“And he’s going to have your guts for garters after this,” Fili’s voice growled.

Ori barked a short laugh, feeling a couple tears freeze on his face.

The riders slowed to a stop. The wargs were snarling and spitting like cats, and the goblins were grinning under their hoods and helmets. The short, stout leader was bundled the heaviest, swathed with a scarf over their mouth and a helmet shoved down tightly over their head. They swung down from their warg, a sleek black creature, and began to stride towards Ori, mace aloft.

Behind him, he heard Kili’s cry ringing above the others; “Let me down! Let me down! It’s got her mace, it’s—let me kill it!”

Ori held his sword a little higher, feeling an awful lot like Bilbo, when the little fellow had held up his blade for them with shivering hands. His own hands, he saw, were shaking like a leaf, and he very nearly barked out a laugh. In his attempt to stifle it, he hoped his face was doing something like a grimace. 

“There you go,” murmured Dori next to him, “make a Fight Face.”

Ori cleared his throat before calling to the approaching goblin-rider, “Put down your mace.”

They pointed to his sword.

Ori tightened his jaw, glowered. “You first. Not one of us is doing business with someone who’s holding a weapon at us.”

The goblin-rider paused, seemed to consider this, and set the mace down.

Kili was still screaming from the sledge, voice starting to go hoarse. “Where did you get that mace? Who did you kill to get it?”

Then the goblin-rider spoke then, as they removed their helmet, voice surprisingly high. “This was the mace of Azog the Defiler. It came to me.”

They unwrapped the scarf that was tied around their head and face, revealing thick and cleverly arranged black braids and a young, thin beard framing a dark-skinned face, one that Ori recalled following Kili about Erebor in a guard’s uniform. 

“And as long as I hold it,” said Lieutenant Hrollr, “they follow my orders.”

There was silence from Kili in the back, and then Balin’s voice called up, “Don’t worry, he’s just fainted, he’ll be back in a moment.”

 

“So let me get this straight,” said Dis, who rode on Hrollr’s warg, tucked up behind her, “it’s the mace they’re worried about?”

“That’s right,” said Hrollr. “See, it’s the deeds of the weapon that make the warrior. No warrior is great on their own, they need a weapon as great as they. The right weapon in the right person’s hand is a sure-fire combination. That’s what Great Rotgus told me, once we met.”

The tiny goblin riding on the bigger one’s back said, “Please, we agreed—if I’m to simply call you Hrollr, you’re to simply call me Gus. Unless you’d like it if I started using all sixteen of your titles?”

“Who has time for that!” she laughed.

Dis frowned. “So, you are a subject of… Great Rotgus now?”

“Of course not!” said Gus. “Hrollr is an ally, and if anything, we owe her fealty. See, as champion over the previous owner of Azog the Defiler’s mace, we bestow upon her the honours due to whoever is great enough to hold so mighty a weapon.”

Fili, who rode behind the Great goblin, holding on to his carrier’s waist, asked, “But hasn’t that weapon killed a great many dwarrow?”

“Oh it has,” Gus nodded. “But that was when it was in the hands of an orc. Now it is in the hands of a dwarf.”

“So the weapon could turn against you?” asked Fili. “And you’re bestowing respect upon its current wielder in hopes that it won’t?”

“We’re bestowing honours upon its wielder because she may not exercise the great power of that weapon against us, yes,” said Gus, “but come on, wouldn’t you want her on your side? I don’t know who held the weapon before her, or who took it from Oakenshield, but—“

“May I interrupt?” called Legolas, a little dazed, from where he steered the sledge. 

“Go ahead,” said Gus with a gracious wave of his claw.

The elf spoke haltingly. “Out of curiosity, did you bestow, or plan to bestow, all the honours you’d have given Hrollr to Oakenshield?”

Gus shrugged. “We’d have offered, but. Well. At that point it was a bit too late. By the time the goblin mercenaries from the battle had come back to us, having retreated, bringing tales of Oakenshield’s defeat of the Defiler, he was long gone. We’d gotten an assembly ready and everything. We didn’t know if he took the mace with him or not, if it was in the mountain, or if it was made into scrap. We didn’t want to make a trip or anything out of it, we’ve got enough enemies as it is that it’s not safe to venture out of our mountains.”

“I see,” said Legolas, clearly still a little befuddled.

“It really was a great relief to see the mace in Hrollr’s hands,” Gus went on, breezily. “After all these years, to see it with a great warrior who charged us head-on, singlehandedly, was truly magnificent. Whoever had the mace previously must have been a terror, indeed; I wish I’d have been there to see the fight in which they were defeated!”

Kili, who sat bundled up between Legolas and Tauriel, beamed at Hrollr. “So, tell us, Mace-Wielder, are you a Goblin Queen now?”

Hrollr wrinkled her nose at him, but Gus laughed. “Well, that’s very close to the idea!” he wheezed. “More like a Chief. Azog didn’t have a lot of formal connections with the goblins, but he was certainly revered as a sort of unofficial Higher-Up. The mace certainly chose a similarly clever mind to his in going to her. Making an alliance with the wargs was her idea, and they don’t do business with just about anyone!“

“Your Terribleness,” called the goblin upon whom Gus rode to Hrollr, “what are your orders for when we are through the mountains? Are we to turn around?”

Gus kicked the goblin’s ears, scolding in a raspy shrill, “The Mace-Wielder will give orders in their due time, you impertinent—“

“Gus, enough of that,” snapped Hrollr. “Grinnah asks a fair question.”

She paused, thoughtfully, and every goblin waited in hushed anticipation for her response. When it came, she nodded decisively before she spoke, calling out, “once we are through the mountains, you will be given a choice—either ride with us, or turn back. If you follow, you will not spend the winter in your mountain, but follow my lead and orders for the remainder of the journey. By the end, you will return to your homes and to Rotgus, the Great Goblin’s rule. 

“This same choice,” she added, “is offered to the wargs. I should greatly appreciate your staying on, if you are willing to carry dwarf-riders, so that our elders, wounded, and young may ride in the sledge. You will not be permitted to eat our reindeer, nor any domesticated animals you may find, but you shall hunt as you please. Again, you shall follow my leadership if you follow, but at the journey’s end, at the return to the mountains, you shall be released from my service and only answer to Bessie, your Queen.”

“’Bessie’?” Kili asked, incredulous.

The black warg upon which Hrollr rode shot Kili a look. Hrollr petted the beast’s long black ears and said, “Yes. Her name is Bessie. That is the name she told be to refer to her by.”

“You speak warg now?” Kili gaped.

“No, that’s me,” said Grinnah, the goblin whom Gus rode. “And most of us, really.”

“Oh,” said Kili.

Hrollr turned her attention back to the goblins. “You have time to make your decisions until we are out of the mountains. That is all.”

There was a stunned silence from the goblins, and even the wargs’ heads were up in respectful silence.

Gus cleared his throat. “If,” he said, “we choose to follow you, will you promise that we will travel under your protections?”

Hrollr gave him a level, solemn look. “I swear,” she said, “we shall protect one another. I shall defend you and your folk with the same dedication I protect King Fili and his company, if you will do the same for us. I take them under my protection, just the same as I take you.”

A sort of watery smile broke across the tiny goblin’s shriveled face. “I’ve always wanted to go on a holiday,” he said. “Grinnah and I are in.”

Gus turned to the riders behind him. “One of you, go back to Goblintown,” he said. “Say that, in my stead, Mumfy is to rule. Now run!”


	13. Chapter 13

“Intern, the suspense is not good for my general health. Do you have any thoughts?”

“…Well, sire, I have a handful, but—“

“Out with them.”

“Very well. Your Majesty, I think I have realized what this combination of spices in the coffee reminds me of.”

“What is that?”

“It- well, it’s… I’m assuming you’ve had your share of pumpkin-based dishes, yes?”

“Yes, yes I have. Are you saying, intern, that this coffee tastes of pumpkins?”

“No, not at all! Nothing squash-y about it, but the blend makes me think that there is pumpkin in here, and I don’t know why that puts me off, but it does. I’m certain that there are going to be numerous others who will enjoy it, but it just doesn’t do it for me.”

“Very well. Not universally appealing. Pity. What is something that most everybody likes that we could put into coffee?”

“I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t like mint…”

“Mint! Perfect! You go to the kitchens and bring up some mint, I’ll disinfect the cauldron, and we’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes. Go!”

 

“…and that’s where we’ve been and what we’ve been up to all this time,” Hrollr concluded. 

Kili tried not to laugh at the dumbfounded faces of the company, illuminated by the light of their campfire. “It took us long enough to catch up to you, and for that, I apologize. Truly. But, in a way, it worked out very nicely; if we had stayed, that group of Hammers would have marched right to the mountain and caught us unawares.”

His mother was the first to speak, after rubbing her temples for a long moment, then clapping her hands together decisively. “Let me get this straight, and stop and correct me if I miss anything: Fili’s would-be assassin had goals compatible to ours all along, and his bizarrely complex and underhanded plan for vengeance actually worked in bringing forth not only all the Hammers in the mountain to your hands, but in a freakishly short time reached to this secret cult out in the wild blue yonder. This cult then began to march to the mountain. Next, while we were beginning preparations to go on the run, fearful for Kili’s fate, my youngest son was sleeping sweetly and safely as a bairn, and that was how we all got split up. Sound right so far?”

“Yes, Amad,” nodded Kili.

“Good to know. So, when Kili wakes up, he takes Hrollr with him to find us. Their greatest delay is in Mirkwood, where they discover the subterranean, secret tunnel that the Hammers outside the mountain are using to come to the mountain. Kili and Hrollr go inside the tunnel, find the Hammers and their Lasta banner—a detail that has truly given me the creeps, by the way—and urge them towards the mountain.”

“Don’t forget, Your Highness,” Hrollr interjected, “that word was sent ahead to Lady Otti in the mountain, alerting her to their arrival.”

“Wonderfully done. Where was I?”

“Urge them towards the mountain.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Mace-Wielder. Which segues nicely into what happens next—goblins appear in the tunnel, having followed it to the Hammers. What were they doing there, anyway?”

Hrollr frowned. “Apparently, the tunnel extended into goblin territory. Goblins don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

“Understandable. Anyway. That’s the point where you two get separated—Kili goes up, gets an arrow to the leg before he can run off and join you in slicing and dicing some goblins. At that point, Kili faints, Tauriel patches him up, and is unaware about the Hrollr situation, assuming whatever, and sealing up the tunnel entrance you had made before the goblins could get up into Greenwood and wreak havoc, now we know in their search for those trespassers.”

“I would like to say, in Tauriel’s defense,” said Hrollr, “that I requested Kili to roll the stone over our tunnel entrance before he was shot. I don’t fault Tauriel for following my request.”

Dis fixed her with a skeptical look. “I shall speak to Tauriel myself when she and Legolas are back from patrol. Kili, I’m sure you’ve got something to say on the matter, but this is going to be something Tauriel has to talk about with me and Hrollr. As for you, Lieutenant, we’re going to have a discussion about your tendencies towards fatalism. 

“But continuing with our story. Fortunately, Hrollr’s got the lucky mace, becomes the goblins’ darling and champion, and decides to take advantage of this good luck by getting them to take her through the mountains, and while she’s at it, she’s going to make an alliance with the wargs for the sake of speed, all for the purpose of catching up to us in the mountain pass, telling us everything that happened, that it is probably safe to return to the mountain with the situation so under control—“

“—and get Kili back, if that was necessary,” Hrollr added.

Dis nodded. “But it just so happened that Kili was safe with us, you found everyone in one fell swoop, and acquired a small army of loyal devotees who are now, as we speak, deciding amongst themselves whether or not they will, in fact, follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“That’s about it,” Kili said.

“And,” his mother concluded, “all this running about was because Master Ori, in the most unknowing, roundabout way imaginable, saved all our lives and preserved the mountain because he unwittingly gave a chance to this young Lasta to put his absurd plan into action?”

“Yes, your highness,” Hrollr said.

Dis threw up her hands. “There you have it. The world is a beautiful, miraculous place. I just hope poor Otti isn’t up to her ears too badly. 

“I suppose we should talk about if we’re going back to the mountains or continuing onwards, oughtn’t we. Master Ori, what do you think is best? We shouldn’t tax your leg any more than we already have.”

Ori’s eyes widened, and he smiled softly in surprise. “Well, your Highness, we’ve come this far, and I know your sons have something they’ve wanted to give Bilbo in person. I would follow them if they wished to continue.”

Dis’ mouth quirked up at the side, but her eyes were… well, less icy then Ori had known them to be on this journey. “Master Scribe, you know that is my feeling to a tee. But your leg—“

“Your Highness, if memory serves,” Ori laughed, “we’re not too terribly far off from a very respected healer.”

“Very well,” said Dis. “Fili, Kili, what will you do?”

Both brothers spoke as one: “Going.”

“All in favor of going to the Shire?” asked Fili.

“Aye!” was the unanimous cry of the company.

Just then, the goblins trotted back with the wargs behind them. Hrollr stood as they came close, and bowed as Bessie made a series of sharp yips. 

Grinnah translated: “The wargs have decided to follow. The Potentate Bessie is of the opinion that your sledge should be reserved for your younglings, wounded, and elderly, and is volunteering her subjects as steeds for the rest of you.”

Hrollr went to one knee, eyes lowered. “Bessie, that is a tremendous offer, and I thank you.”

Bessie snuffed at Hrollr, and Grinnah added, “She reserves a price from you, that once in the Shire you will not stop her from hunting wolves. They are her favourite prey.”

Bofur hooted. “The hobbits will thank you for that!”

“I shan’t step between you,” Hrollr said solemnly.

Bessie panted approvingly, nudging Hrollr with her nose. She laughed, and rose, turning her attention to Gus on Grinnah’s shoulders. 

“And you, your malevolence?” she asked.

Gus looked as though he could barely contain himself. “We took a vote on it, and Bessie gave her permission, and… well, we’re in!”

 

The last of the rubble that had served to conceal the tunnel opening fell away in a thunderous, dusty cloud. Once it had passed, Lady Otti looked to the troops and miners gathered behind her.

She cleared her throat surreptitiously. She had a speech ready, something that would rally everyone up; Mistress Knod had helped her with it. There was quite a bit of talk about how important it was to remember that all these dwarves had not necessarily come for the royal family. It truly was important for her that they know that. There was a reminder of the destruction the first group of Hammers had wrought on the whole mountain—the arsons, the graffiti, the terrifying marches and “demonstrations” that, in their quest to harass the original Company of Thorin Oakenshield, had taken out entire neighborhoods. 

They needed to know that this endeavor was for themselves, for the mountain. That they didn’t need to suffer being burned out again. That suffering that again was not an option. 

However, there was no chance of her talking without collapsing into a coughing fit. She discovered this once she had gotten up in front of them, opened her mouth and nearly doubled over with hacks. She heard a concerned rabble from the crowd, but held up a hand, trying to get her bearings again.

She looked back up at them, coughed out, “I think everyone knows why they’re here, and you don’t need me to tell you why. Whatever it is, it’s extremely admirable, and I’m honoured that you are all here today. I mean that.”

There was a smattering of chuckles and applause from the crowd. She made a gesture to the entry with her thumb. “I’ll go in first. It’s only fair, isn’t it?”

As she turned her back and started into the mouth of the cave, she heard modest applause and cheers behind her, the volume amplified in the vast tunnel before her.

“Not bad,” she thought, continuing to stifle her coughs so they would not be amplified as well.

Her eyes, though old, still adjusted to the dark quicker than most others her age. Benefits of genetics, she thought; wear all the velvets she liked and sit in all the government meetings she could stomach, she would still be a miner’s daughter and have all the gifts and skills that bloodline gifted her. Her senses had gone softer in the busy metropolis that was Erebor, but in a vast and empty space like this with nothing to obstruct her, she could easily take in every sound, every vibration.

Right now, the only other bodies she could were her own and those of the troupe gathered outside the cave entrance.

She motioned for two to follow her in, still listening. The two dwarves, a miner and a soldier, looked at her expectantly, and she signed for them to continue forwards into the darkness.

They got about half a league before they came upon a place where the tunnels diverged, where the one tunnel they were following broke into three separate caves, one continuing the path Otti and her companions were on and two going in opposite directions across from each other. What was more astonishing was the tremendous white linen banner hanging like a ghost in the center of this divergence.

They approached, pulled it down with a harsh yank, and spread it out once they realized script was painted upon it in bold orange letters:

HERE WAS THE FLAME OF LASTA’S ANVIL SPLIT IN TWAIN AFTER THE MIRACLE OF THE VISITATION OF THE APOSTLES NOBDI AND NWUN AND THEIR SUBSEQUENT MARTYRDOM. TO THE NORTH WENT THE FOLLOWERS OF NOBDI WHO BORE THE WORDS OF LASTA, AND TO THE SOUTH WENT THE FOLLOWERS OF NWUN, WHOSE SILENCE SHALL FOREVER BE REVERED AND EXEMPLIFIED OUT OF RESPECT FOR THE ONE WHO ORIGINALLY SPOKE THEM, AS THOSE WHO WOULD NOT HEAR LASTA WOULD NEVER DESERVE TO HEAR THEM SECOND-HAND. SO IT WAS DONE, AND SO MAY THIS GROUND BE HONOURED.

Otti’s companions, once finished reading, looked to her as she sat back on her heels and looked up at the cave ceiling thoughtfully.

At last, when she stood up, she spoke the first words since they had entered: “Not my problem anymore.”

 

It was ghastly early in the morning. Lindir had been up all night making preparations for the upcoming winter festivities, and had been woken by a remarkable nightmare brought on by too much coffee and cheeses, some nonsense about animals on the roof and bodies creeping down the chimney.

Well, all was quiet and powdered with falling snow out in the garden, with only the tiny footsteps of squirrels and rabbits and another elf and—

Oh dear. Who in their right mind would be out of their warm and cozy room at this cold and dark hour, unless they were bothered in some way, too?

The footprints stopped at the bridge at the western bridge in front of Lord Elrond’s hall. Standing there, wrapped in her blue bathrobe, was Rineth, almost motionless.

“Rineth!” he hissed (it was still too early for calling). “Is everything all right?”

She jolted a little at his voice, turning her head to the side with eyes wide open and startled, the profile of her hooked nose exaggerated. When she saw it was him, she relaxed, smiled, and turned a little more to him. “Good morning, Lindir. I’m fine, thank you, just… had a feeling.”

He walked closer to her, to stand next to the accountant. “A feeling? What sort?”

Her smile became less polite, warm with a secret, and looked back out on the bridge. “A good one.”

They stood like that for a moment, Lindir not certain of quite what to say to that. Lady Rineth was only nearly Lord Elrond’s equal in age, and she insisted she was only just an accountant, but that woman could give even the most enigmatic of their species a run for their money.

She looked up at him again, politely asking, “And yourself?”

“I did not rest well. I needed the air.”

“Ooh. Was it the cheese?”

He balked at her frankness, but she sighed and looked out again, wistfully. “I’m beginning to think my feeling was just the cheese, too—Oh!”

He frowned and nearly asked what it was, when his own ears picked up the sound—a running beast, swiftly approaching. 

Rineth wasted no time, hoisting up her heavy skirts and running down the bridge, skidding to a halt as what they heard came galloping past them—a black warg, carrying a dwarf-sized rider bundled in furs and wearing a goblin helmet, wielding an orcish mace. The rider swiftly passed them, continuing to race in a path that appeared to encircle the entire valley.

Rineth spun to Lindir again, face bright with wild joy. “I knew it!” she laughed. “I knew it! Come on, there’s work to be done! Go wake up Elrond and bring him to the eastern bridge, that’s where they’ll be, I’ll stake my life on it! I’ll make up some tea and scones—“

“Rineth, who in the world are they that you’re expecting?” Lindir asked, bewildered.

“Dwarves, you silly boy! Dwarves!”

 

Fili supposed there would never be so prepared a host as Elrond was. The moment Hrollr returned from her ride around the valley was the one that Elrond came over the gate to greet them, Lindir and his children in tow. He looked a touch hazy-eyed yet with sleep, which made Fili feel a touch guilty—a part of him wondered if Elrond had greeted them in the elvish equivalent of newly- rolled out of bed. 

The goblins and wargs were a bit difficult to explain, but Hrollr found a way, after she had explained her ride: “I’m kind of their boss now, and they’ll behave now that I just rode around you with my mace up, because, and this is going to sound absolutely terrible, but I’ve kind of conquered you, which is a huge plus for you, because now they’ll have to behave here. As I said, I’m terribly sorry for not giving you prior notice.”

Regardless, he had graciously led them into his home, bade them drop their travelling bags by the fireplace, and brought them downstairs into the kitchen, where a platter of hot scones with butter and gorgeous jams waited for them. 

Lindir had almost mentioned the name of their chef, but then Elrond had stopped him, gently trodding on his foot and suggesting he go get some meat for the wargs. 

He did not demand a great deal of conversation, but listened as Fili told the story of their journey (greatly embellished and assisted by Seybur, Bodhir, and Gimli). Elrond’s twin sons occupied themselves with relieving Bombur and Seydhir of their own twins, cooing over the bairns and feeding them, trying to teach them what was undoubtedly curse words in their own language, judging by the way their sister scolded them. Bodhir seemed very taken with Arwen, as did the goblins, and Bodhir would only sit in the lady’s lap (Arwen made the best of this captivity and busied herself with filling Bodhir’s pretty hair with even more braids). The goblins pulled up chairs around the table as well, and as it turned out, had very pretty table manners. 

Legolas sat next to Gimli, but carried himself anxiously, eyes flitting over to the fireplace, where Dis sat with Tauriel and Hrollr. The Captain and the Lieutenant sat side by side across from the Princess, illuminated by the fire and voices unheard. The wargs lay on their bellies and backs like any other lazy hound, snoring and occasionally passing gas.

Fili turned his blind side to the elf and the lad as Legolas jolted after Gimli presumably kicked his leg lightly. 

“Don’t worry,” he heard Gimli quietly assure the elf, “Hrollr isn’t the sort of shove blame, and Captain Tauriel doesn’t seem that way, either. Her Highness isn’t scolding them too badly, she’s good with mediating.”

Fili smiled, both at Gimil’s reassurances and the fact that Ori now sat in his line of vision. The scribe was sandwiched between his brothers, slathering more blackberry jam onto a scone and laughing at something Dwalin said.

He looked more relaxed, rosier, and warmer than Fili had seen him for far too long.

“Your Majesty?” Elrond asked gently.

Fili jolted. “Yes, my Lord? My apologies, my mind was—“

“—Elsewhere, I guessed,” the elf assured him. Fili wanted to ruffle at the amused and smug gleam in his eye, but it was hard to be upset with anyone who fed you and your peculiar little company so well. 

As soon as Lindir returned with a basket full of choice meat cuts, Elrond said, “as long as you are all here, you are welcome to use the baths and laundry. All I ask in return—now hear me out—all I ask is that you please carry a small gift for Bilbo for when you see him? It would mean a great deal to me.”

Fili grinned good-naturedly. “As an advance apology for what’s about to happen to your bath house, we accept.”

 

Ori was nearly crying with contentment—privacy in a spacious bathroom, a huge tub full of gorgeously hot water, big enough for him to float on if he wanted, well-fed, and the promise of a massage for his leg by one of the greatest healers in all Arda.

He closed his eyes and sunk a little more into the water, his giddy giggling echoing around him.

His reverie was broken with the sound of reverberating footsteps.

“Excuse me very much,” he sniped with little venom, “this is a private bathroom at the moment.”

“I know,” called Dis’ voice. 

Ori valiantly did not shriek.

“I’m giving you a warning in advance that my son is coming in here momentarily,” she continued breezily, “and that he’s likely going to try and flirt with you. He’s going to be terrible at it, he came in the building doing the shoulder-thing. 

“I’m extremely certain that he’s going to attempt to tell you that I’m not angry at you anymore, that everything’s all right now. I got Tauriel and Hrollr to talk to each other, they’re not upset, I spoke to Kili, he’s going to be all right, and everything is really disgustingly nice and friendly right now. But I suppose ‘tis the season.”

“I… thank you for telling me,” Ori squeaked.

“Not at all, boyo. I also want you to know that I’m going to give you a formal apology in front of everyone, because you deserve that after how I’ve been to you. But right now, I don’t think Fili’s going to give up time with you for anything, so I’m going to say very quickly, from the bottom of my heart: Ori, I’m glad to know you, and I’m glad my family knows you. I’m sorry I misjudged you and suspected you, and thought for a moment that you weren’t good for Fili.”

Ori was stunned. “Your Highness, I… I don’t know what to say, except thank you. From, to borrow your phrase, from the bottom of my heart.”

He could practically hear Dis’ shrug. “Really, that’s all I needed. I’ll head out now, go easy on Fili.”

“I’ll try not to laugh at his chicken impersonation,” Ori muttered, once he thought Dis was gone.

Dis guffawed. “He does look like one when he does the shoulder-thing, doesn’t he?”

Ori barked another startled laugh. “I keep trying to tell him!”

She snorted before closing the door to the other bath chamber. “Good luck this time.”

Ori settled back into the water, mortification melting away into some kind of warm anticipation—Dis had said Fili was coming to flirt with him, and really, who was he to doubt the words of Fili’s own mother? 

The door Dis had come in from creaked open a second time. 

“Mind company?” he heard Fili timidly ask.

He looked over his shoulder, smiling. “Not at all. Come over here, you’re doing the shoulder thing.”

He turned his back to give Fili some modesty, and waited for him to settle into the water next to him. Fili was flashing nervous looks at him, and Ori was suddenly very aware of the fact that it had been decades since they had seen each other naked, and never before had it just been the two of them naked.

Ori cleared his throat, and began, conversationally, “So, things are all right now?”

Fili looked a little startled, but nodded, “yeah.”

“Hrollr and Tauriel talked everything out?”

“They’ve talked, Hrollr wasn’t upset with Tauriel to begin with, Tauriel was worried that Hrollr wasn’t more upset with her, but yeah, they’re good.”

“The goblins are being good?”

“The best. They’re helping the twins mind the babies.”

“And your mother isn’t upset with me anymore?”

Fili nodded solemnly. “She has told me she realized there is nothing to forgive.” 

Ori smiled. “Good. And you should know that my leg is feeling wonderful. Now carry on.”

Fili quirked an eyebrow, confused. “With what?”

Ori feigned an interest in the vaulted ceiling, settling in the water. “Well, you’re either going to take my guts for garters or take this opportunity of being naked in the bath with me to give me my overdue reminder of how you apparently cut a dashingly roguish figure. Very kind of you, my eyes aren’t quite what they were anymore, I’ve been having trouble seeing it.”

There was silence from Fili, and Ori was suddenly afraid that he’d been completely wrong, that Dis hadn’t been above taking one final shot at him.

Finally, he heard Fili’s drawl, “Well, I suppose this is about the last chance I’ll get this opportunity for a long time…”

There was a slosh of water as he drew nearer, and Ori had to fight from smiling like a buffoon as his stomach flipped, and—

A great splash of water came to his face. As he sputtered, the splashes continued, and his laughter and Fili’s scolding echoed throughout the room—“You little bastard, first off, why would you sacrifice yourself to the goblins? So Tauriel and Legolas could do some fancy sharpshooting? And besides, their treaty was with the elves, Greenwood couldn’t do anything if it was your sorry ass that got killed by goblins, the mountain didn’t have anything to do with them! You stupid—stop laughing! I’m furious with you!”

Ori finally caught Fili’s wrists, drenched and aching with laughter. “You idiot,” he wheezed, “oh Fili, you idiot.”

“I’m the idiot?” Fili snapped.

Ori nodded fondly. “Yes. Yes, you are. Because I didn’t jump out of that sledge for some arrow-happy elves.”

Fili frowned, confused. “Then what—“

Ori threw up his hands in good-natured exasperation. “And here I was, so certain you would understand what I meant when I jumped out.”

“What you meant?”

Ori closed his eyes, relaxing again and letting his head rest on Fili’s shoulder, still chuckling. “When you figure it out, let me know.”

Fili’s hand came to Ori’s hair, just carefully petting. “Don’t fall asleep, you’ve got a massage in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Fili.”

“Tell me what you meant.”

“Just because you’re king doesn’t mean you don’t get to work for things, fool. Now shush.”


	14. Chapter 14

ere were torches lit at supper, and a heavy brisket of beef (Lord Elrond had learned from the last time he’d had dwarrow company) alongside the more delicate fare. Lord Elrond was quietly surprised to see his guests were considerably more subdued than the last time they’d been with him, and he wondered if it was the presence of the Lady Dis, or the goblins, or the Wood Elves, or perhaps some combination of all three that encouraged the change in mood. 

Whatever the cause, there was a feeling of nervous anticipation that came to a height when Ori entered with his brothers at his side. Dis rose at his arrival, the others following her lead. The scribe and his brothers inclined their heads politely, and as Lady Dis approached, Dori and Nori backed away, making their way to the table to watch with the rest of the company.

Ori kept his head lowered as Dis regarded him with an even gaze. When she spoke, it was with all the dignity and hallowed depth he’d heard from the Oakenshield, but with a warmth and intimacy he’d never heard pass her brother’s lips in his presence. 

The words were unknown to him; he could read Khuzdul with a scholar’s skill, but he’d not ever had the honour of hearing it spoken regularly enough to know the sounds. 

She concluded with setting her hands on Ori’s shoulders and waiting for Ori to look up at her. When he did, his cheeks were red and his eyes were bright beneath his spectacles. His response was too quiet to be heard, but Dis pulled him close for a moment, resting her chin on his shoulder. He put his own hands on her waist, and as they stood like that, the anxious cloud that had hovered over the table seemed to dissipate into relief. 

The two dwarves stepped back from one another after a moment, Ori blushing and smiling shyly, and Dis turned back to the company, the picture of serenity, and led Ori to the table, seating him between her and Fili. 

Then Oin stood on his chair, holding his goblet of wine high, croaking out for toasts. The Company of Dwarves heartily cheered the suggestion, raising their goblets in turn. Lord Elrond smiled, seeing his own children following along, as well as the Wood Elves and goblins. He politely raised his own goblet, pleased to have such Community at his table, as well as the hope that, perhaps this time with such company, supper would pass without incident.

 

“…and then the galoot comes up to me, and says, straight as you please, ‘the wood elves took me clothes and put them up on a scarecrow!’” 

Lady Mizim struggled to finish her story over the roars of laughter and cries of embarrassed protest from young Gimli. 

“And I say,” she hiccupped, gasping with laughter, “’Are you sure you didn’t lose them in the Lake, trying to go for a swim?’ and he says, he says,” she broke off cackling, elbowing her husband.

Gloin, tipsy himself, managed to get out, “he says, ‘they took a fishing pole, and just,” he made a gesture as if he was reeling up a line from the water, “whish! Fished ‘em off!’ Mahal’s truth!”

Gimli attempted to slide under the table, equal parts embarrassed and tipsy, but yanked back up by Kili, who flung an arm over his shoulder to hold him close by, laughing with the rest of the table.

Tauriel, with all the sobriety a young elf could muster, held her arms aloft, calling for silence, then intoned, “In defense of young Gimli’s tale, we must not forget the terrible tragedy that almost befell Legolas.”

“Oh fuck,” the elf in question squeaked next to her.

Tauriel shushed loudly in response to the delighted laughter, trying to keep a straight face. “It was many moons ago, before I was appointed Captain. In fact, I was applying for the position, as I recall. Prince Legolas was testing the applicants that day, along with the soon-to-be-retired Captain, and the pair of them were the auditioning candidates’ combat skills.”

“So you had to beat someone up to get the job?” asked Bodhir, impressed.

Tauriel said “no” the instant Legolas said “yes.”

“Captain Langoquen would not have allowed me to ‘beat up’ anyone, they had it perfectly under control!” Tauriel insisted.

“Well, you were paired with me, and you beat me up,” Legolas shot back.

“You did?” Arwen shrieked, delighted.

“She punched me right in the nose!” Legolas cried.

Tauriel poked him hard in the ribs, offended. “You were wide open! What were you even doing, you were all…” she waved her arms wildly in front of her face, face scrunched up and making whooshing noises for effect. “It was ridiculous! I had an extremely unfair advantage over everyone else!”

“What- what does this have to do with my son’s clothes?” asked Gloin.

“Well,” said Tauriel, “it was the way Legolas was bleeding, I just popped him on the nose with my fist, and he…” she brought her hands to her face, eyes wide, and staggered back a little.

“Blood everywhere!” she cried over the applause and laughter. “And it wasn’t that hard a punch, but—“

“You annihilated my nose!” called Legolas. “Your fists were like tiny hammers!”

“But that wasn’t the best part!” Tauriel cut him off. “The best part was when he says,” she plugged her nose, making her voice high and squeaky, “’Take me to the infirmary, my sinuses have been burst.’

“So, the way he was carrying on,” she concluded, “and given the fact that I didn’t see him again for the rest of the day, it’s not wildly presumptuous to assume that, at a later date, during another nose bleed, he might have taken a boat, and gone snatching clothes to staunch his wild bleeding. That’s all. Thank you. You’ve been a wonderful audience.”

She returned to her seat, receiving hearty claps on the back from the dwarves. 

Elrond’s children were applauding as well, Arwen closest to her father. The boys, Elrond noticed, were easily hooting and laughing, calling out teasingly in Sindarin to Legolas. Arwen’s face was glowing with delight, but she was shyly fumbling with her napkin, nervous and fidgety.

Elrond decided to call for dessert, in hopes that maybe that would settle things down. As it was a special occasion, yet, he called for the lemon liquor. It was light enough.

 

Hrollr closed her eyes, inhaled biting-cold air through her nose, her mouth, into her lungs, savoring the sharpness along with the tang of the lemon on her tongue, before exhaling, steam rising from her mouth like a dragon, on a note:

“Theeeeeeere’s aaaaaaaaaaaaannnnn inn, there’s an inn, there’s a merry old inn, beneath an old grey hill…”

The goblins shrieked their approval, Elladan and Elrohir cheering and stomping out the beat, Arwen’s laughter ringing out like bells, Legolas and Tauriel singing along.

“And there they brew a beer so brown, the man in the moon himself came down, one night to drink his fill!” 

She took a breath to sing the next verse, but Tauriel beat her to it, the notes sloppy under her giggles. Hrollr opened her eyes to see the Captain standing atop her chair. Gus was standing atop the flat oak surface of the table. Arwen stood beside the table in front of Gus, twirling the Great Goblin under her arm, much to the appreciation and cheers of the rest of the goblin horde. 

Tauriel stood upon the table, extending a hand to Arwen, inviting her up to dance. Legolas and Hrollr carried the rest of the song as the ladies danced, Arwen’s skirt twirling and twisting, her laughter bursting forth like a waterfall, face shining with mirth.

The wargs began to howl soon after, and the twins shrieked in surprise at first before they began to howl as well, and Hrollr fell out from the rest of the song in favor of lemon-cold laughter.

Elrond had long since gone to bed.

 

“I can’t say it was quite as passionately done as Thorin’s display was, but still, well done, mother.”

Dis tugged Kili’s ear fondly, scolding, “You’ll remember that I don’t have such intentions towards Master Ori, wee badger.”

Kili’s laughter echoed down the hallway as he and his mother made their way back to the rooms their family shared. Fili found himself grinning at the memory, adding, “nor did our Mother have Uncle’s strange gift for making the Apology sound like an Accusation.”

Dis’ jaw dropped. “He didn’t. How? How could he fumble up an Apology that badly?”

“A gifted dwarf, your brother,” giggled Kili, calming down a little.

“Aren’t I aware,” sighed Dis. “Fili, you’re dawdling.”

Fili blinked and turned his gaze away from the closed door to his left, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. Just.”

Dis patted his shoulder. “I know. Ori’s brothers can take care of him, they’ve been doing it for over a century now. You can see him in the morning, we’ll be on the road again very soon.”

“Are you not done yelling at the poor lad yet?” Kili teased.

Fili huffed, his voice hushed. “If he pulls any more stupid stunts like he did at the Pass, I’ll—“

“Put him over your knee and spank him?” Kili suggested.

Fili made a truly undignified noise, squawking, “Mother is right here!”

“Oh, if you think Mother doesn’t know—“ Kili laughed.

“Because there’s nothing for Mother to know, except she ought to scrub out your mouth with soap, maybe!” Fili hissed, reaching to pull his brother’s hair.

“She’s also right here, you little turds,” said Dis. 

She very pointedly did not look at Fili as she continued down the hall. “Kili, stop teasing your brother. Whatever he wants to tell us, he’ll tell us in his own sweet time.”

Fili gaped, protesting, “He would be delighted to, if, I reiterate, there was anything to tell!”

“Isn’t there?” Kili asked innocently as they reached their door. 

“No, there isn’t.”

“Why not? Is our fine Scribe-Master not a worthy subject of conversation?”

“Kili,” Dis said in a warning tone.

Fili’s jaw set as he turned to busy himself with opening the door. “I think we all know that’s not true, Kili.”

“We know it, yeah,” Kili shrugged. “So why don’t we—“

“Kili, drop it,” Dis scolded.

“No, he’s all right,” Fili laughed bitterly. “It’s— if you want to talk about Ori, I’ll talk your ear off about him. But there’s no conversation to be had about the pair of us, understand? And,” he cut his brother off before he could open his mouth, “out of respect for him, there won’t be.”

Kili did not shut his trap, as Fili had hoped he would, but rather his mouth flopped open, offended. His mother’s face was a careful blank, but the longer he looked the more he could tell her brows were knitting together, as if he had grown two more heads and she was carefully working out how best to phrase it.

“But!” he said. “We’re all very tired, and as mother said, we’ve got quite the trip ahead of us tomorrow, so.”

 

“Baby Brother, you are drunk.” 

Ori snorted inelegantly, wiggling his toes in Nori’s grasp. “How drunk?”

Nori pinched his smallest toe harshly. “Drunk as drunk may drunk. Stop your wriggling, you wretched dormouse.”

“How did this happen?” Dwalin asked from where he sat by the fireplace, helping Balin with folding their laundry. “Ori didn’t even drink half as much as he usually does.”

“That would be my fault, I suppose,” Dori sighed, measuring out Ori’s nightly dosage, as prescribed by Lord Elrond. “I gave him his pre-supper dose when there wasn’t much of anything in his stomach, and I let those toasts happen far too soon.”

“Master Dori, how can you think of blaming yourself!” Balin cried. “You’ve been but the model of care and consideration for your brother. He deserved those toasts, he did, and there wasn’t a thing even you could do to stop us from it.”

“Kindly recall, O Brother,” Dwalin rumbled, “that he would not have done too well to stop the toasts intended for Lady Dis, as well?”

“That too,” Balin muttered.

Ori laughed, applauding himself (his hands missing one another every other strike). “Drink another round for me, Ori the Not-That-Drunk!”

“Stop that,” Nori scolded, slapping his leg and stifling giggles. “I’m trying to give you a damn leg-rub, you tiny lush.”

“Call for Fili,” Dori suggested lightly. “He’ll make Ori behave, eh?”

Nori gave up and hooted with laughter. “I like it! How’s that, Ori?”

Ori’s face went even redder as he squeaked, offended, flinching into stillness.

“He’s behaving better even now!” cheered Nori. “Whatever that boy is doing, it’s working.”

“Nori!” Dori scolded, scandalized.

“Whatever it is,” Dwalin muttered, “it can’t be worse than what you and my brother get up to.”

Dori made a sound like he’d been stabbed, and Balin flinched and cursed. Nori wheezed, slumping over in his chair with laughter, gasping, “The dwarf I married, Mahal in his Halls. Sweetheart, that was gorgeous. Never change.”

Dwalin’s ears pinked and he ducked his head to both hide his smug smile and brace himself against Dori’s smacks. “Ow. Supposing we did get Fili in here, himself? Ow. That might. Ow. Be more effective. Ow.”

Ori pulled a pillow over his face, moaning, “Nooo, no no nooo. Bad idea.”

“Is it?” Nori asked, delighted. “Why is that, dearie?”

“He’ll want to talk,” Ori complained, muffled. 

“You’re doing that just fine.”

“Ugh,” Ori huffed. “Last time we talked, he was all worried about why I went and jumped off the sledge.”

“How dreadful,” Dori deadpanned.

Ori hugged the pillow over his face a little tighter. “He doesn’t know,” he said in a tiny, young voice.

Nori frowned. “What do you mean? He doesn’t know why you went and did it?”

Ori made no response.

Nori turned to look at Dori, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Dori shrugged helplessly, coming forward with Ori’s medicine. 

“You want him to know?” Dori asked.

Ori only made another high-pitched whine, not unlike a miserable beagle. 

Nori sighed, then went to pull the pillow off his brother’s face. “Well, if he doesn’t have the good sense to know what kind of lovely gift you gave him, he shouldn’t be King.”

Succeeding in exposing his Ori’s flushed face, Nori took his face in his hands, adding, “and if he doesn’t treat that gift proper, he’s not good enough for you, and that’s worse, lovey.”

Dori ruffled Ori’s hair, saying, “How’s this—we’ll drop it if you take your medicine, eh?”

Ori complied gratefully, wrinkling his nose as he swallowed, then promptly fell asleep not five minutes afterwards.

“How did he get this drunk between dessert and now?” Balin asked, mystified. 

“That lemon-whatsit, is my guess,” Dori groused. “You’ve all seen what that did to everyone.

“You just had to be polite, didn’t you,” he sighed, patting Ori’s head. Ori snorted in his sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Gimli rose early that morning, leaving his parents snoring again, deciding to go and explore. He was a little worried about how easy it was (for him, at least) to sneak out and around these elvish halls. He’d maybe seen one golden-haired guard since he left the rooms given to him and his parents, and run into Lindir again, but that was about it. 

Were all these Valley elves in hibernation, that he should see so little of them? 

He came across many a vaulted ceiling and twisted pillar, a seemingly popular motif in these elf designs, but while the Greenwood had seemed more like roots, like webs, these structures felt more like vines, or delicate twisted trunks. Such pillars he found in a gazebo outside. They appeared to be made of carved wood, so finely were they sculpted, and a foolish part of him wondered if that was, in fact, the case. He came closer to one, ran his hand over it. It certainly felt smooth and cold as stone, but as to what kind, he couldn’t rightly make out right about now.

There were spaces between the twists, and he peered through a window between two just to make sure there was a centre pillar. Instead, he caught a glimpse of something moving in a lawn across the way, with pale hair flying like a cloud around its head.

He told himself that it was catching sight of Tauriel’s red hair as she sparred against Legolas was what gave away the elf’s identity to Gimli.

He backed away, feeling a little hopeful to ask to spar with them, or at least watch, and a lot stupid and shy for… well, for no good reason at all, really.

“It’s brilliant to watch, right?” 

Gimli nearly jumped clean out of his skin at Elladan’s voice behind him. Naturally, Elrohir was right beside him.

“Will you go with them?” asked the other twin, voice honestly curious.

Gimli puffed out his chest, as his father did when he was nervous. “Hardly fair, when I’m more of an axe wielder. Wouldn’t want to break anyone’s weapons.”

Elrohir shrugged. “Fair enough. What about knives? You could learn from Tauriel, if you wanted a lesson. She seems the sort who’d like to teach you.”

Gimli barely pulled together a polite demur when Elladan offered, “or perhaps you might learn the bow from Legolas?”

“No!” he said quickly.

The twins frowned and exchanged the briefest of looks before Elladan mildly asked, “why not?”

Gimli shrugged, attempting a nonchalant tone. “I couldn’t operate one of their bows if my life depended on it. I’m far too short.”

“So borrow Kili’s,” suggested Elrohir. 

“You speak as though he’d allow such a thing easily, and as though either of them would have the patience to teach me such things.” 

Truly, Gimli hadn’t meant to sound so petulant towards the end. He hurried to rectify himself, joking, “Besides, last I saw Lady Arwen, she was crowded with goblins and my wee cousin. I’m sure you’ve all got more things to do than look after children today.”

Well, so much for not sounding bitter. Damn.

The twins didn’t appear to have paid much mind to his petulant tone, exchanging another look. 

“May I suggest,” said Elrohir, thoughtfully, “that you set yourself on an equal ground with them? There’s a phrase, easy enough to learn…”

Gimli rolled his eyes. “Please, my lords, I grew up with Fili and Kili. No tricks, please.”

“Gracious, Master Gimli!” Elladan laughed. “ It’s no insult we teach you! It’s simply called whenever someone strikes a point in sparring.”

Gimli frowned at them, but nodded, gamely.

“Repeat after me,” said Elladan. “’ Auta miqula orqu.’”

Gimli muttered the words, then spoke them aloud, until the brothers were satisfied with his pronunciation. 

“It seems a mouthful,” he wondered. “And why is the word ‘orc’ in there?”

“Yeah,” Elrohir agreed, “it’s a lot to say, it’s to the idea of ‘you’ve struck the king Orc,’ or something. It’s a general praise.”

“We could get into the etymology of it,” Elladan cut him off, “but it looks like they’re wearing down. Tauriel is going to win this one, I bet. Go on, go on!”

Gimli shot them one last wary look before hurrying down to the green, where Tauriel was whirling in closer and closer with her knives towards Legolas.

“You’re a right bastard,” hissed Elrohir to his brother, stifling laughter. “Shitting Morgoth, you’re a nightmare.”

“Hey, I wanted to teach him ‘Lilie n’vamina, ar’ lle atara lanneina,’ but we’re a bit pressed for time.”

Elrohir had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from bursting a gut open. “You didn’t. Tauriel’s going to kill you either way, but you’d be--”

Elladan shoved his shoulder urgently. “Look! Look!”

Legolas had managed to twist himself out of Tauriel’s cornering, bending down and tripping her to the ground and crouched over her with knives at her throat.

Gimli applauded, and both the brothers heard their little lesson echo back to them.

The Greenwood elves halted and stared, Legolas at Gimli, Tauriel at the twins. She said something to Legolas, voice too soft to pick up, and Legolas waved Gimli over to them.

“Huh,” said Elladan. “That’s nice, we won’t face death today.”

“Worked out all right for Gimli, anyhow,” said Elrohir, watching as Legolas showed Gimli how to fit the bow he had. “He wasn’t too tall for it, after all. That’s all right.”

Their relief was short lived as Legolas directed Gimli to shoot and land an arrow directly between the two brothers with a threatening ‘thwunk.’

“Fuck,” said Elladan.

Elrohir was already running.

 

“Who’s that?” 

Arwen felt little Bodhir slipping from her shoulders, and hefted her rightly again. “That’s my father’s ancestor, Luthien.”

Bodhir pointed to the other statue erected beside the first. “And who’s that with her?”

“Her husband, Beren.”

“He doesn’t look like an elf,” quipped Gooner from Arwen’s right, where Hrollr stood. The little goblin was straining up to hold Hrollr’s hand, half hiding behind her.

“He wasn’t,” said Arwen.

“But she liked him anyway?” asked Uzfrag, the goblin holding Hrollr’s other hand.

Arwen nodded, smiling. “She liked him very much anyway. She did a lot of brave and great things for him.”

“Did he deserve it?” asked Bodhir.

Arwen hummed thoughtfully. “I think so. I certainly admire her motives. But that’s just me.”

Bodhir pointed to another statue. “Who’s that?”

“That’s my mother.”

“Did she do a lot of great things, too?” asked Hrollr.

Arwen sighed and smiled, still a little bittersweet. “A great, great many. I miss her very much.”

“My mama’s a neat lady, too,” announced Bodhir. “I know a lot of mamas. Lots of them are pretty neat.”

“I’m glad that’s the case.”

“You’re pretty neat.”

“Thank you very much!”

“Are you a mama?”

Arwen tried not to laugh. “No, I don’t plan on being one for quite some time, yet.”

Gus sighed wistfully. “I can’t say if I ever knew my mama. I’m told she was quite the beauty, though; they sing songs of her great deeds, how she deafened seven wolves in one screech. Mind you, they sang these songs long before I was ever made Great Goblin! Grinnah, do you remember your mama?”

“Can’t say that I do, your malevolence, she devoured my father and choked on his ribs when I was just a wee maggot.”

There was sad tutting from the assorted goblins, and Bodhir said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Grinnah. My father sometimes talks about eating mother when he thinks I can’t hear.”

Arwen nearly dropped her.

“It’s sad but true, my lady,” said Hrollr, full of mock solemnity. “And I’ve heard Lady Seydhir threaten much the same to Master Bombur.”

“Lady Arwen, we have very limited knowledge,” said Gus brightly, “about elvish child-rearing practices! Are you, too, in the habit of devouring one another? Parents to parents? To their children? Siblings to siblings?”

Arwen was at a loss. “Well, Parents… I can’t speak for every situation, you understand that, but… well, I can’t really say. A-as you know, I have but my father here, and—“

“Did he eat your mother?” Gus asked sympathetically.

“…For as long as I knew them together, no,” said Arwen, carefully. “She is no longer here, but that is not because of… devouring, no. As for their children, absolutely not, would never consider it. Siblings—“

The racing footsteps and hectic cursing of her brothers across the lawn behind the statues cut her off, as well as Legolas’ and Gimli’s cursing after them.

She sighed. “Siblings do not cannibalize, but homicide does sound good sometimes.”

 

Later, over breakfast, they decided to drive out the following day. Lady Rineth scurried out soon after the decision was made, giddy with some project in mind. 

“She’s a good lady,” said Tauriel to Kili as they stayed to wash up dishes, “but peculiar, even by our standards. This won’t be impressive coming from me, but I do believe that she is the oldest of our kind I’ve met. But,” she shrugged, “considering my only basis for comparison is King Thranduil, perhaps that isn’t saying much.”

Kili handed her a rinsed cup to dry and put away. “Well, I can promise you that I’m impressed. But that’s also not saying much.”

She smiled, assuring him, “you’re a prince; there’s something nice about impressing a prince.”

Kili snorted as he started on a plate. “And, of course, your only basis for comparison is Legolas, so…”

She laughed at that, flicking a towel at him. 

“Hey, he can’t hear me!” Kili yelped, jumping away. “He’s with my brother, packing up.”

“How is he feeling this morning? Fili, I mean. He looked like he had a little too much fun last night. Shouldn’t he be recovering with Ori?” she asked, innocent like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

Kili groaned pitifully. “If only he’d just. Fili and Ori are two of the cleverest people I know, and I just…” he trailed off in a frustrated series of hand-gestures that looked quite murderous.

Tauriel tried to look sympathetic. “There, there.”

“I mean!” Kili blustered. “Fili’s been keen on Ori since we were in school, and he’s gotten chance after chance to make some kind of move! They both have!”

“Have they?”

“They have! The quest, which they both dilly-dallied on…”

“Mm-hm.”

“Then Fate intervened and locked them both up in the same infirmary wing together…”

“Oh dear.”

“And finally, Ori’s mission to create the College of Scribes in the midst of restoring the Library gets Fili all hot under the collar for his administrative muscles—“

“Captain, are you done with that dish?” 

“Yes, I am, Captain. Thank you. Where was I?”

“Administrative muscles.”

“Yes!” Kili began to scrub a fork with a little more force than strictly necessary. “And all that gets Ori elected as one of Fili’s Advisors, and they haven’t just…”

Tauriel cut Kili off before he could start gesticulating again with the fork. “Is it safe to say that Ori’s interested, as well? It looks that way to me…”

“It looks that way to everyone because it is that way!”

“…but he could always have his reasons for keeping his distance,” she finished, taking the fork away. “Professionalism has its demands.”

Kili sighed, beginning to calm down. “Yes. Yes, it does,” he conceded. “But the long and short of the matter is, Fili wants to give Ori everything, and Ori looks at Fili like he hangs the moon, and there’s nothing standing in their way. Their work reflects on one another, the way they handle things and work together doesn’t overpower one another, and…” he trailed off.

He looked at Tauriel mournfully and said, “it’s just really very frustrating. And Fili still doesn’t know why Ori jumped for him, and Ori won’t say because they both think the other isn’t interested, and I just hate it, Captain.”

Tauriel wanted to ruffle his hair, but restrained herself. “I know. And I’d do something, if it wasn’t meddling and puerile.”

“Or entertaining for you,” Kili muttered, going back to rinsing.

“That too,” she conceded.

They washed in silence some more, until Kili quietly asked, “do you know any stories about Lady Rineth? Elves that old tend to have stories about them.”

“She did live among a great many elves with stories attached to them,” Tauriel admitted. “Has many a story about them, too, I’d wager.”

“Did she fight for them?”

“No, she was their accountant, for the most part.”

 

The next day, Hrollr rode at the head of the party. The goblins and wargs with their riders, they decided, would ride before the reindeer sleigh. Fili and Dis rode up at the front with her, alongside Grinnah and Gus, all the better to read the map with. 

“I don’t know how we’ve managed to cover so much ground in such little time,” said Dis, “but from the looks of things, we may just reach the Shire in time for Yule.”

“That’s wonderful!” said Hrollr, brightly, turning to Gus. “No worries, your Malevolence; you’ll be out of this cold in no time at… “ 

She trailed off at the Goblins’ withered, downcast little faces. “What is it?” she asked. 

Gus shook his head. “Oh no, nothing at all!” he insisted, trying to sound cheerful. “It’s only… I don’t suppose the Hobbits will have much desire to put up with us, will they?”

“Hey, none of that,” Fili called. “Once Hrollr’s run about and conquered the place, they’ve got nothing to fear from you, right?”

“Of course they haven’t!”

“Well, then,” Fili reasoned, “once Bilbo sees how well Hrollr gets on with you and all, he’ll vouch for you, and I’ll bet the Hobbits will be pleased as anything to have visitors who aren’t so damnably tall.”

Bessie made an inquiring noise, and Hrollr petted her ears, assuring her, “I’ll bet they’ll also be happy to meet you, once we tell them how ghastly bipedals are to eat.”

It was shortly after that another goblin rider game galloping up from behind them, carefully holding on to several wrapped parcels.

“Rations discovered in the back, sires,” she explained, tossing each of the riders little parcels with their names written on them. Within each little package was a pair of knitted socks, all of thick wool.

“Where did these come from?” Hrollr asked, amazed.

The rider shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest, but they must have been slipped in when we were in Rivendell.”

Dis was pocketing her socks as she replied, “I can make an educated guess, but I’ve decided at this point in the game I’m not going to question a good thing.”


	16. Chapter 16

Three days before Yule, soft fluffy snow had begun to fall from the sky. It had been a refreshing sight, since the remains of last month’s snowfall had become more like cold and wet dirt. The new fall had dusted everything over with a new, clean layer of sparkling whiteness.

By Yule Eve, the snow still hadn’t stopped, and was still falling as steadily as the first day. At this point, the Shire residents were regularly shoveling snow away from their paths and the heavier drifts off the tops of their houses. Some Fauntlings, in their efforts to make taller snow orcs or stronger forts with more snowballs, had taken to climbing trees and shaking the heavier caps of snow from off the branches.

Bellis Moss, at The Green Dragon, had a full house of patrons, even on Yule Eve. The next day, ze knew, would be reserved as a family day, and the numbers would go down. Tonight, though, there would be carousing and planning with neighbors for the next twelve days until the New Year, when the bonfires would start. 

At the moment, Mister Baggins was providing musical accompaniment for some impromptu carolers. Bellis had given him, as a joke, the gift of a long, thin, steel bombilla to drink from while he played, and was laughing to watch the fellow make such good use of it. 

Bellis’ merriment was cut short by the appearance of Shiriff Danderfluff, pushing the door open and letting the draft and snow in momentarily.

“Evening, Shiriff,” said Bellis. “Happy Yule.”

“Sure is,” the Shiriff replied, shoving the door shut with a grunt. 

“Anything I can help you with? Pour you a drink?” With a mischevious smile, ze asked, “save a seat for Miss Molly, maybe?”

The Shiriff was already flushed with the cold, but she was quick to mask her flinch by turning her back to Bellis, shaking the snow off her shoulders. “No, I hope to be quick tonight.”

She took off her hat, shaking the snow off it, and peered around the crowd. “I’d ask if Baggins is here, but I can hear him.”

As the carol finished, Mister Baggins proved that he could very well see her and waved her over, calling, “You missed some snow, Shiriff, come in and melt it off!”

The Shiriff sputtered at the cheers and drunken toasts welcoming her, but quickly recovered and made her way over to Mister Baggins. 

“A word, Baggins?” she asked once she reached him, obviously hoping for some privacy.

“Is it Yule?” he asked cheekily. 

She rolled her eyes. “I mean it, it’s—“

“Say now, what’s the problem, Shiriff?” someone anxiously asked.

A murmur began to spread throughout the inn, and more concerned voices made themselves heard. “Yeah, what’s the matter?” “Is everything all right?” “Is everyone all right?”

The Shiriff raised her hands placatingly to the crowd, speaking over them. “Nobody’s hurt, everybody is just fine, I’ve just gotten some messages about travelers in these parts.”

“But why have you got to come to Baggins?”

Something seemed to settle in Mister Baggins’ expression, as if a puzzle had come together. He smiled, serene, as the Shiriff explained, “Well, the messages I’ve gotten have indicated that these travelers were looking for the Bagginses.”

Mister Baggins set his harp aside for his ale. “The stories, do they seem fairly outrageous?”

The Shiriff turned to look at him, and began to narrow her eyes. “Yes. To be frank, they do.”

Mister Baggins began to fish about in his waistcoat pockets, smiling mischievously as he searched. “Something about dwarves, I expect?”

Shiriff Danderfluff put her hands on her hips, scolding him with her eyes as she confirmed, “Just that.”

Mister Baggins, not done with his fun and having found the letter he was looking for, added, “I’ll bet they also said some things about… let’s see… ‘two elves, eight reindeer pulling a red sleigh, and a pack of wargs with riders, most of which are goblins,’ does that about—“

“Yes, yes, Mister Baggins, that about sums it up,” snapped the Shiriff. “Where are your guests now? When will they be here? And, most important, why didn’t you tell—“

A heavy thump was heard on the roof. 

The inn was silent, and all were still, save Mister Baggins. After he had closed his eyes and inhaled, very likely cursing internally, he hopped off the table he had been playing at and walked to the center of the bar, listening. 

His eyes went wide, panicked, and he began to make a run for the door. The sounds over the crowds’ heads made their way for the opposite end of the hall, and Mister Baggins externally cursed, then called for Bellis to “quickly, get the door open!” before running to the end of the hall, to the fireplace.

He threw the bucket over the flames, dousing them, but when the scratching began, just next to the chimney, he bellowed up, “Don’t even think about—“

But it was too late. A high-pitched scream was heard, shriller and shriller as it came down the chimney, until there was an “Oof!” and a thump in Mister Baggins’ outstretched arms.

Coughing in the smoke and covered with soot, both Mister Baggins and the little goblin in his arms turned to the crowd.

“Thank you,” said the goblin admiringly. “For your heroism in rescuing me, the Great Goblin, I shall ensure a barony, a summer home if you like, and—hey now,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “have we met before?”

“Very briefly,” said Mister Baggins, before bellowing up the chimney, “there’s a door at the front if you walk around, you’re on the roof right now.”

“Have we met?” the goblin asked, shaking the soot off his woolen socks. “I can hardly say where or when, though…”

“Mister Baggins,” said the Shiriff, voice barely even, “who is this?”

“Rotgus, the Great Goblin,” said the little goblin. “But you must be mistaken, I’ve met a Baggins, he was a hobbit, and this fellow is not—“

There was a hefty knocking at the door, which Bellis carefully answered. Ze were face-to-face with a pair of black eyes gazing out from underneath a horned helmet. Bellis jolted, but stepped aside to let the warrior in. Peering around, ze saw a whole troop of similar helmets, and heard mingled snorts and puffs, the kind from animals.

The one who had come in removed the helmet, revealing a mass of artfully piled black braids atop a dark, bearded face. After clearing their throat, they said, in a surprisingly high voice, “Is the mighty Rotgus within?”

“Back here,” the little goblin called, waving. “Mace-Wielder Hrollr, does this fellow look familiar to you? I cannot for the life of me—“

The black dwarf’s eyes went wide, and after a second they kneeled. 

Mister Baggins strode up to them, and offered a hand to help them up. “Lady Hrollr,” he said warmly. “You’ve advanced in the world.”

Hrollr accepted the hand up, starstruck. “I suppose I have,” she said. Turning to the goblin, she cleared her throat and said, “Your Malevolence, this is my predecessor, the one who inherited the mace from Azog after using it to kill him.”

There was a clatter and a murmur from outside the inn, presumably from the other helmeted figures, and Rotgus, the little goblin, looked up at Mister Baggins with something akin to terror. 

Softly, but emphatic, Rotugs only said, “holy shit.”

 

Fili chewed on the stem of his pipe, watching the horizon anxiously. 

“You’ll break the fool thing clean off,” Bilbo scolded as he came out of Bag End’s green door, bundled up and bearing a tray of steaming mugs. “And you’re not even watching in the direction of the children. Would you call them here, by the way? I’ve got hot cider.”

Fili turned his head to find Bodhir and Seybur playing with a group of Fauntlings, showing them how to build taller and denser snowforts. “Have you saved some cider for the others?” he asked, putting away his pipe. “I don’t know when they’ll be here, they’re already later than I’d like.”

“Of course I have,” Bilbo assured him. “You think a Hobbit just receives a letter and has done with it? Heavens, no; we prepare. We hate to be off-guard. And don’t worry about the others, they’ll get here when they get here.”

Fili barked a laugh, tugging his gloves off. “Strange coming from you.”

“Har har. Get the kids here, and then come inside, Bombur and Seydhir want their children back, and your mother has designs on my new cheese, I need you to distract—“

He cut himself off, his ears pricking up. Fili had just raised his hands to whistle the children over, but he stopped, noticing Bilbo’s expression.

The Hobbit was looking ponderously at the distance, eyes narrowed thoughtfully and nose wrinkled. Soon, Fili was also making out the sound of light hooves approaching.

There was also a noise like…

“Oh no,” Bilbo groaned, “he’s taught them that stupid song.”

Fili made a rush for the door, hollering within for everyone to come out at once, the others had made it. The badgers and faunts ran up to Bag End, asking what all the noise was, and Fili wasted no time in hurrying along the path to greet the sleigh as it became visible, just over the hill.

Most of the goblin entourage was walking alongside the sleigh, along with the elves and Hrollr and Kili. Ori was steering the reins, and he raised his mittened hand to wave at Fili, beaming wide. His co-pilot had his back to the Fili, instead leaning over to talk and sing with the rest of the sleigh’s passengers. 

“…for the only brew for the brave and true,” Fili heard them sing, “is served at the Green Dragon!”

“Hey!” Bellowed Fili, cupping his hands around his mouth as Dis ran ahead to meet the sleigh. “Who taught you how to drive?”

Ori laughed, and gestured to his co-pilot. “We decided not to trust him, it was quicker this way!”

Thorin turned around, eyes wide and offended. “I can find my own way home!”

Kili hollered over, “He’s soused! Don’t tell Bilbo!”

“Tell me what?” Bilbo called from where he leading the dwarves from Bag End.

Thorin attempted to stand, but soon gave up on that in favor of sitting. “Darling, I’m drunk, but it’s not so bad.”

“Hello, Drunk,” Dis laughed, catching up to the sleigh, “I’m Dis.”

Ori extended a hand to her, helping her up onto the sleigh and letting her clamber over him to hug her brother, who pulled her to him eagerly, grinning as he said, “I did not become a hero of legend for you to tell those kinds of jokes.”

“You’re not a legend yet, not while I’m alive,” she retorted, giggling as Thorin hugged her tighter. “We’ve missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

Ori pulled the reindeer to a stop, and his passengers dismounted. Dori helped Balin out with a courtly bow, a move that Bifur offered Oin with no small degree of sniggering. Without preamble, Dis picked Thorin up and deposited him back on his feet before Bilbo.

A cloud of dwarves formed around Bilbo from all sides; the ones who had come out of Bag End were greeting the others who had come in from the sleigh, and they were soon all over Bilbo and Thorin, ruffling hair and knocking brows together. 

“All right, all right,” Bilbo laughed over the noise, “could we please greet one another inside? Everyone must be freezing, and Bombur and Seydhir have some lovely sausages cooking up.”

Hrollr looked over her shoulder at Gus and Grinnah and the rest of the goblins. Before she could even open her mouth to ask, Bilbo was on his toes and calling to the assembled goblins, “we’ll show you where to put your armor and whatnot, I just hope there’s enough room. Thorin said there would be, but we’ll just make sure. Nobody’s adverse to sausages cooked in caraway seeds?”

Gus beamed as the assorted goblins chattered that the opposite was very much the case. 

“Where will the sleigh go?” asked Ori, still in the sleigh. “The wargs and deer are happy to be in the woods, I know, but--”

“We’ve made arrangements up the hill to house the sleigh,” Thorin assured him. “Just drive up a ways, look for the red door and a ‘Gamgee’ sign.”

“But before anyone goes anywhere,” Bombur cut in, striding to the sleigh, “we’ve got to unload.” The dwarves each took a sack upon their back, the elves reaching in to help. Bombur took Fili’s sack, but not before letting Fili dig around within for Bilbo’s gift.

“Bilbo,” he announced, “Kili and I made up a little something for you…”

“…and it took us a good long while,” Kili added, linking arms with the hobbit, “so we hope it suits you.”

Bilbo glanced back and forth between the pair of them, suspicious, and accepted the little parcel with braced shoulders, as though anticipating a great weight. When it proved to be of considerable lightness, his eyes went wide with surprise.

“I can guess what it is, I think,” said Thorin as Bilbo unwrapped it. 

“Don’t spoil it,” Bilbo murmured. “Unless you think it’s going to bite me, don’t tell—“

He was cut off as a tiny metal tube fell into his palm.

He rolled it over in his palm, curious. “Some kind of bead?”

“Sort of,” Fili said. “It’s got a seal on it, so you can use it to mark your signature…”

“My handwriting’s on this?”

Kili giggled at his bewildered expression. “Nope, it’s a symbol that demarcates your messages. It’s one that most everyone knows you by at this point—“

“It’s an acorn, dear,” Thorin cut in. 

Fili interrupted Bilbo’s sputtering with an arm around his shoulders. “See, the bead for you to mark your messages envelopes with, once you’ve delivered them to the ravens you call with the whistle.”

“What whistle?” Bilbo asked, turning the bead over in his hand.

Kili pointed to one end of the bead, explaining, “It attracts ravens and other corvids to you, and once they receive a message for the mountain, they’ll get it to us.”

“It also works for personal messages you send in the mountain,” Fili added breezily, “so if you need to find us in the mountain when you come back with us…”

Bilbo laughed raucously at that, but petered off at the hopeful expressions of the dwarves around him.

“You’re serious?” he asked, dumbfounded. Turning to Bofur, he asked, “are they serious?”

The toymaker had taken his hat off, and he earnestly said, “We were all completely serious when they were making that whistle.”

“We don’t know when we’ll get the go-ahead to come back,” said Gloin, “but we all want you to come back, if only for a little while.”

Bilbo was speechless for a moment, his mouth drawn tight and his eyes getting shiny. Surreptitiously wiping at his nose, he asked Thorin, “Dear, did you know about this?”

Thorin nodded, expression warm. “Sorry.”

Bilbo laughed damply, and Fili and Kili ensconced him in a hug. 

“I don’t know how he kept it secret,” Bilbo confessed. “He’s gotten to be dreadful at secrets.”

“Think of it as a honeymoon?” Thorin offered, smiling.

Bilbo squeezed his nephews closer. “We’ve already had two, at least.”

Dis clapped her hands briskly. “You can argue logistics inside. We’ve got more than enough of us here to eat up those sausages. Fili, go with Ori to get the sleigh sorted.”

Fili’s head shot up from where he had rested his brow on Bilbo’s shoulder. His mother’s expression was expectant, her usual business face, but her mouth was tilted slightly, in a suppressed little smile. He must have looked fairly dumbfounded, because she raised a critical eyebrow at him.

Kili lifted his head too, glancing first at their mother, and then grinning at Fili. He looked a little too excited for his own good, making something turn a little in Fili’s stomach.

Ori, for his part, looked as surprised as Fili felt, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth quickly shutting closed. 

There was silence, save a noise that sounded suspiciously like Nori and Dori sniggering. Fili broke it by clearing his throat. “All right.”

He studiously avoided making eye contact with the bodies he walked by to get to the sleigh, though he felt a heavy pat on the shoulder from Dori and a more subtle pat on the back from Nori. All the while, he could feel his ears burning, and he was becoming more and more aware of his feet moving, certain he would trip over them.

Once at the sleigh, Ori offered a hand to him, and it wasn’t until Fili took it he realized it was shaking. Looking up, he saw how pink Ori’s face was, pink with more than windburn and cold, and how wide his dark eyes were.

Before he could get lost there, or talk himself out of it, he hoisted himself up. 

In a stage-whisper, he leaned over and said into Ori’s ear, “Get me out of here.”

Ori flinched, but laughed and complied, shaking the reins and urging the reindeer on at a brisk walk, leaving the others laughing behind them.

Once they were a good distance away, Fili shuffled in his seat.

“Red door, Thorin said?” he asked desperate for some kind of discussion.

“Yeah,” Ori confirmed, not looking at him. “And a sign that says ‘Gamgee.’”

“Friend of Bilbo’s?” 

“I suppose.” 

They rode on in silence, the reindeer slowing down.

“Look,” said Ori, finally breaking the silence, “I just want you to know that I didn’t plan this with your mother, I’m just as surprised as you are, and I’m so sorry—“

“Hey, now,” Fili interrupted, “I didn’t suspect that. It’s all right.”

“They carried on ridiculously,” Ori groaned. “I can hardly believe—“

“They did make it into a little production,” Fili agreed, giggling. 

“After everything that’s happened, they still want a little entertainment?”

“We’re very entertaining folks.”

“Must be. A politician and a scribbler. Fun for all.”

Gently, Fili bumped their shoulders together. “A politician and a scribbler who leaps in front of goblin hordes and drives a reindeer sleigh.”

Ori groaned. “You’re never going to let go of the goblins, are you. And driving isn’t as hard as it looks, you just—“

Fili shuddered again, remembering Ori’s jump from the sleigh. “I’ll probably never know what possessed you to do that stupid stunt, so no, I won’t. And driving anything’s hard for a fellow what’s got one eye, give yourself some credit—“

Ori jolted a little, and stopped himself from turning to stare at Fili in favor of watching the road. 

Fili laughed. “Did you forget the eyepatch?”

“No!” Ori shook his head rapidly. “Goodness’ sake, that’s… I’m just… no good reasons at all? Really?”

“Truly.” Before the mood could get awkward again, Fili grinned and twirled his moustache. “It’s all right, I’d do many a silly thing to impress a handsome rogue, myself.”

Ori ducked his head, softly laughing. It was a sudden move, almost like a flinch, and his hands tightened on the reins.

Fili caught the movement, and suddenly the world was very quiet. 

“Ori,” he asked softly, “that was for all of us, wasn’t it?”

“Of course,” Ori answered, a little too quickly, still not looking at Fili. He got the sense that Ori wouldn’t look at him, even if the reindeer didn’t need steering. 

The snow falling around them dulled and softened the reindeer’s steps and the sleigh’s gliding to mere whispers. Fili couldn’t look anywhere but Ori, it seemed, even though everything around them felt too big and far-off. 

Ori roughly freed one trembling hand from his mitten, and reached up to take off his fogged-up spectacles. Fili instinctively reached over to take the mitten for safekeeping, one less thing for Ori to worry about, as he set about cleaning them off.

“Dwalin would say I’m being a coward,” Ori said, trying to sound brisk. 

His mitten was warm in Fili’s hands. “He’d never say that.”

Ori chuckled. “Well, he’d mean it.” 

The scribe sighed, then set his spectacles back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be playing guessing games with you about this sort of thing. It’s obviously important to you--“

“You being alive and safe is important to me,” Fili asserted. 

Ori gave him a sidelong look, but there was no teasing judgement. Assessing, yes, as per usual, but something tenser. Something that looked like fear.

Ori fixed his eyes on the road again, inhaled once, quickly, and said in a rush, “I’ve fancied you for decades, and have adored you for years.”

The world stopped.

As Fili’s ears buzzed, everything started happening so quickly—the snow falling, the movement of the sleigh, the words from Ori’s mouth.

“And if you were the scribe and I was the king, I’d have done just the same thing, because I couldn’t stand myself if I let my… weaknesses hold you back or endanger you—“

Fili’s hand was shooting out to hold Ori’s. The scribe flinched, and Fili’s voice said, winded, “Stop the deer?”

As they halted, Fili’s other hand reached out, gently tugging Ori by his beard to face him. The gesture made Ori crack a smile, in spite of himself.

Once they were facing each other, wind-burned and snow-capped, the adrenaline rush coursing through Fili began to cool and settle, until his nerves were no longer burning but fizzing. 

Fili couldn’t find the words, though he supposed they were there. He couldn’t make himself move, though Ori’s face was across from his, and so close, and he was still trembling.

They had places to go, they had people to see and not much time to linger before their duties called again, no matter how right it felt to simply sit across from one another and be. 

Fili’s other hand felt useless by his side, especially when the other looked just right sitting on Ori’s cheek. Fili began to move it, only to remember it was the one holding Ori’s mitten.

Smiling, he lowered his hand from Ori’s cheek, reached for Ori’s bare hand, and impulsively kissed the back of it and its palm.

Ori snickered as he kissed it. “Sorry, sorry, it just tickles.”

Fili slid the mitten back onto Ori’s hand, smiling as he decided to repeat the gesture again later. Absently, he wondered what noises would come if he trailed the kisses up Ori’s arm, his shoulder, his neck—

Embarrassed at himself, he found himself laughing, too. Ori’s hands were suddenly clutching his coat, and he was tugging Ori closer until their brows were together, and he was feeling Ori’s hot breath puffing against his face as they both giggled.

“Bet that was top of your list of possible theories,” he heard Ori manage.

He nuzzled his nose against Ori’s. “It only went on the list when I was feeling wildly optimistic.”

There was a soft, almost wounded noise from Ori, and his brow pressed a little harder to Fili’s. It was so close, and Fili couldn’t comprehend how natural this felt, even though his head was ringing with the fact that Ori adored him of all dwarves--

Fili suddenly realized, “Bollocks, I haven’t said anything back, I’m sorry—“

There was a loud whining noise from the reindeer, snapping Ori’s attention away.

“Shit,” he muttered, taking the reins again. 

Fili felt cold where Ori had left. “Sorry.”

Ori paused, then looked over at Fili. A small smile curved his mouth, and he suggested, “Want me to teach you? It’s really not so hard.”

He scooted closer to Fili, offering him the reins. Suspicious, Fili accepted them. “All right.”

Ori settled an arm over Fili’s shoulders, and his other hand settled over Fili’s on the reins. Fili, surprised, turned his head to give Ori a scandalized look, only to startle when he realized how close Ori’s slyly smiling face was again.

“Now,” said Ori, squeezing Fili’s hands, “to get them moving…”


	17. Chapter 17

(Up North)

There was a wooden chair sitting in the pasture, the legs nestled between the rocks. Upon it sat a tall, but stout figure, wrapped in a heavy red coat with a huge furry hood and equally furry boots. A little cloud of strong-smelling smoke rose over the hooded head in soft little puffs, rising high above where it sat, guarding the herd of a little over a hundred reindeer.

“Hullo, there!” called the ranger, climbing with practiced ease over the rocks. “My lady, how are you?”

The figure turned her head, casting a deep-set eye on the approaching ranger, chewing the stem of the pipe between sharp little teeth. 

“Hullo yourself,” she called back, taking out her pipe and knocking the ashes from it before standing. “All’s in order, it seems; I’ve heard no trouble from anything in the herd.”

“Well, that’s fine then,” said the ranger politely, reaching her. He had a wrapped loaf of bread under one arm and a stoppered ceramic jug in his bare hand. The herder tutted and took both from him, saying, “you’ve been to the yurt, but you didn’t take the mittens. Comion worked hard on those.”

“My apologies, I thought they were yours and your son’s.”

She chuckled, shaking her head and holding up one plain mittened hand. “My son loves me well enough to know I don’t wear no fancy mittens. Did you see bobs and patterns on those ones? Of course they were gifts, one for you and one for your partner. We understand it’s the holidays where you boys are from.”

He smiled and followed her to sit down on the stones. “Technically, Yule has passed, but I thank you for the thought. That’s incredibly thoughtful of you and Comion.”

She shrugged, breaking off part of the loaf. “Pshaw. Now come on, I know you didn’t just come up here to bring me my lunch.”

He nodded. “Comion said to consult you about this— in the woods near your yurt, there have been dwarves seen wandering about. And not Iron Hills, or any local traders. They speak and dress in an eastern style.”

She put down the jug, hummed, and began stuffing her pipe again. “What did they seem to be up to?”

“Wandering, mostly. But if you want my opinion, it looked an awful lot like they were thinking about making a settlement.”

She snorted. “Really? Damn. I wonder what they did, to feel they had to flee the east. Did you talk to them?”

“No, only spied a little. I remember how it went the last time someone tried to take charge on your property.”

“Good lad.”

She puffed on her pipe for a few minutes, watching the herd. The ranger helped himself to a piece of bread, and at her nod he uncorked the jug to dip the slice in the cream within.

When she spoke again, it was with the pipe between her teeth. “I appreciate you coming to me. I suppose I’ll get up and get Comion to replace me, if you don’t mind watching the reindeer in between now and then.”

“Not at all. But are you sure? My hearing’s nowhere near as good as yours.”

She waved him off. “They’re lazy today, it should be an easy hour. Besides,” she said, taking off her hood, shaking out her inky hair and wriggling her pointed ears, “I’m getting overheated sitting there all day. I’ll talk to these dwarves, ask them if they’ve had to deal with the bears or any other critters of that like, or if they’d like to. If they’ve got any sense, they’ll clear out.”

“Alternatively,” he teased, “you could become a landlady.”

She laughed. “Again, if they’ve got any sense, they’ll clear out. I’m up to my ears in reindeer, I can’t be minding any more creatures. Speaking of what I mind, how long are you up here for?”

“Me and Legolas agreed to start journeying towards each other in the spring. I’ll tell you when he responds to the last message I sent him.”

“Do that. And if you write him again before you leave, tell him to write to his mother once in a while. His father keeps me updated, and the boy responds to my letters, but I’d like it if I didn’t have to ask all the time how he’s doing, you know?”

“I can guess, Lady Comyariel.”

 

(Out East)

 

Lady Otti raised her glass of wine. “To the continued safety of the mountain, and safe travels to the remaining Firey Hammers far away from us.”

Acting-Lieutenant Afli raised his own glass. “To the safe travels of the royal family back to us.”

Acting-Captain Gjarn beamed widely as he raised his glass. “To the destruction of that ghastly dead fish, and may its ashes never so much as touch this mountain again.”

Unimpressed, Otti glanced between Afli and Gjarn as they touched glasses. Afli only mouthed, “trust us” with a haunted look in his eyes.

 

(Down South)

 

“Darling?”

“Yes, dear?”

“The orcs say that there’s a pack of dwarves tunneling in this direction. They say they look like your Ereboreans, but aren’t familiar and seem rather lost.”

“Did the orcs say how many there were?”

“Not much at all. I didn’t get an exact number, so I’m guessing somewhere up around twenty or so?”

“Oh. Well, I’m not too worried. If they’re tunneling this way, they’ll have to turn around; it’s not like they’ll want to be around an active volcano.”

“I suppose not. Is there any of that cake left? I feel like that would make a marvelous breakfast.”

 

(Mirkwood)

 

Calessequen shuffled into the communal kitchen on Yuletide morning, yawning widely. They hadn’t slept in weeks, tinkering and running about for the King, but they had both decided to take a break on the first day of Yule, when everyone else was taking a holiday.

“Morning,” said Neithamanadhril from over her cup of tea. “Haven’t seen you around.”

“I’ve been busy,” they tried to say, but got caught up yawning. 

Neithamanadhril snorted, then placed a wrapped parcel on the counter. “Here,” she said. “This was waiting for you. Nothing saying who it’s from, though. Anything I should know about?”

The surprise woke Calessequen up. “No, nothing to brag about either.” 

Sure enough, the quickly-wrapped parcel had her name written on the paper. Opening it, she found it was a beautifully made ceramic mug, with a crackled blue glaze.

“Wow,” they breathed, then looked up eagerly. “Have you got any idea at all, Mandy?”

The other elf shook her head. “Honest and truly, I have no clue.”

On her way out, she patted Calessequen’s back. “Happy Yule. Go back to sleep after you eat, all right?”

They would have responded, but there was a rolled-up paper inside, which they took out quickly enough it might have ripped.

 

Intern: 

The spirit of progress does not sleep. I look forward to working with you again.

 

(Bag End)

 

"Hey," said Fili softly, finding Ori sitting up in the kitchen.

Ori returned the smile. "Hey."

He closed his eyes as Fili leaned in close, tilting his face upwards.

There was a clatter in the other room, making them spring apart, and Thorin squawked, "Bilbo, what in the world is this ghastly dead fish doing on the mantle?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May your days be toothy and bright  
> And may all your Christmasses be... Jim?   
> Sure. Why not.


End file.
